North Star
by Alelou
Summary: What if the Illyrians had been better prepared to defend their warp coil? This AU saga is a TnT-heavy general ensemble WIP that takes us back to the planet in "North Star." T/T, R/S.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** All things Star Trek belong to CBS/Paramount, not me.

**Spoilers:** This AU diverges from canon during the season 3 episode "Damage" and will never make it back. An earlier third season episode, "North Star," provides the setting for much of what follows.

**Author's Note: **What if the Illyrians had been ready and waiting to defend their warp coil? This AU goes on from there. I'm inspired by two AU writers I greatly admire, MaryContrary and Escriba - not to mention I've pretty much done canon to death at this point. This AU is not a particularly happy universe, but I guarantee it will not be as bleak as "Twilight." Although this is a work in progress, I have at least a vague idea where I am going with it.

Reviews are always welcome, critical or otherwise.

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><p>"Sheriff, one of those fellas who claimed to be from Earth has just shown up in the saloon."<p>

MacReady put down the padd Bethany had loaned him and rose from his seat with a groan – in recent months he'd been reading too much and moving too little, trying to catch up on the 250 years of progress they'd missed out on. He took a moment to make sure he was properly armed. "Just one?"

"Yes sir, just one." Garcia looked worried. Then again, Garcia always looked worried. MacReady had hired a thinking man to replace Bennings, but he feared he had gone too far in the other direction.

Once inside the swinging doors of the bar, his deputy gestured towards a man sitting at the table nearest the fire, sipping something from a mug. The man's eyes were reverently shut, and both hands clasped the mug as if seeking warmth.

The few townsfolk in the bar – it was late afternoon – were watching curiously and keeping their distance.

"Tucker, is it?" MacReady said uncertainly. The last time he'd seen this man he'd been clean-shaven, well-groomed, and confident. This fellow didn't look nearly as impressive: his hair was long and unruly, his beard and mustache were ragged, his uniform was worn, his shoulders were slumped.

"Sheriff," he said in apparent acknowledgment, adding a tight, haggard little smile.

MacReady took his hat off and scratched his head. "_Enterpris_e is back?"

Tucker didn't appear to have heard him. "Can't tell you how much I've missed coffee."

"Where's your captain?"

"Kinda got separated from my ship," Tucker said, and suddenly focused on him. "Have you heard anything from them?"

"If you didn't come with them, how did you get here?"

"I was dropped off."

"Dropped off?"

MacReady took in the deep circles under his haunted eyes as the man hesitated, then scowled and said, "An Illyrian ship left me here. I'm afraid they weren't interested in visiting. Have you had _any_ contact with _Enterprise_? With Earth?"

"No, nothing. We haven't had contact with anybody." Of course, there was a reason for that. He looked around the room, at all the wary faces. In the absence of communication, rumors had flourished. Resentments had developed. "Who are these Illyrians?"

Tucker sighed. "Long story. I'm sure Captain Archer warned you that it might take awhile before someone could get back here. I'd be happy to check that communications equipment we left with you, though. Right now, even."

"Lined up a place to stay yet?" MacReady asked.

Tucker shook his head.

"Better come along," MacReady said. "Let's get you sorted out." He nodded at Garcia and said, "Cover the shop."

x x x

"Are you hungry?" he asked, as he unlocked the door of his little apartment above the barber shop and walked into his rooms. Behind him, Tucker was breathless after just a walk up the stairs.

"Not really."

"Tired, then?"

"I'd like to take a look at that equipment."

"Well, that's going to be a problem. It got wrecked."

"What?"

"Not everyone was pleased with your visit or the changes it brought."

Tucker stared at him. "Maybe I can fix it." He rubbed his arms. Either he was trying to comfort himself or he was still trying to get warm.

MacReady grabbed an extra quilt from the closet and draped it around the other man. "You don't look so good. Sit down."

Tucker's mouth opened as if he might protest, then closed. He sank into one of the two wooden rocking chairs that sat in front of the fireplace. "Took half the night to walk in from where they set me down."

"You're lucky the sand vipers can't move when it's this cold."

Tucker grunted and sat huddled in his blanket. He wasn't even rocking.

MacReady poked at the embers of the previous night's fire and threw another split log on. He wouldn't normally waste wood this early in the day, but it was clear the man needed some warmth. "Who were these Illyrians?"

"Aliens."

"And they just dropped you down in the middle of the desert in the middle of the night and expected you to find your way here?"

"They pointed me in the right direction. I'm just relieved they honored the deal they'd made with my captain."

"What kind of deal was that?"

"Like I said, long story."

"I've got time."

Tucker shook his head, jaw set, and stared bleakly at the fire.

"You need some sleep," MacReady said, giving up his questioning for now. He gestured towards his bed in the adjoining room. "You're welcome to use the bed, or you can lie right here on the hearth if you want. I'll keep an eye out."

"Thanks," Tucker said. He lay down on the little rug in front of the hearth, curled up in his blanket, and was asleep almost at once.

**66.8 LIGHTYEARS AWAY**

T'Pol was in engineering when the call came from the captain. "I need you in my ready room."

She nodded at Ensign Rivers and departed. She and the ensign had been gradually fabricating the parts required to rebuild their warp coil, and had made significant progress, but it was slow work marked by trial and error, especially without Commander Tucker's expertise available to them.

After the fiasco with the Illyrians, they had not only lost Trip, but missed their rendezvous with Degra. They hadn't seen or heard anything from either in the two months since, but they were still heading on full impulse towards the coordinates he had given them. This struck T'Pol as somewhat nonsensical, since without a functioning warp drive it would take them over fifteen years to get there, but Archer felt Degra might guess what had happened and meet them along the way.

The Illyrians had promised to leave their chief engineer with the Humans on the planet the Skagarans had attempted to colonize with Human labor, the one those same Humans – using utterly incorrect science - had named "North Star." This was the Illyrians' only concession to their refusal to return Tucker, who had been captured as he attempted to take their warp coil. She had pointed out to them that holding Tucker as a guarantee of their good behavior was unnecessary, since their warp speed could easily outrun a ship that lacked a functioning warp coil_,_ but they had not found that idea persuasive. She had next offered herself for Tucker, reasoning that this would at least allow _Enterprise_ to take advantage of its remaining Trellium-D supplies, but Archer had rejected that idea.

Naturally, Archer had then proceeded to offer _himself, _but the Illyrian captain said, "If I had you in my custody, Captain, I would have to take you all the way home for trial. Your engineer was following orders and that's why I am willing to let him go once we are secure from your predations. I believe that makes this the least objectionable solution for both of us."

"I'll be all right, Cap'n," Trip said, when they were allowed to see him on screen, though he looked quite pale. His MACO guard had been killed defending him. "They say you can beam Rivera's body back when you're ready. Tell his family how sorry I am." He pointed at a device of some kind around his neck. "I'm told this thing will blow my head off if you try to transport _me_ out of here - so - better not."

"We'll see you at North Star, Trip," Archer had said, with a show of confidence.

Trip had just nodded. He'd glanced briefly at her where she stood at Archer's side before he was led off.

"He will be wearing that device as long as he is in our custody, Captain," the Illyrian said.

Archer said, "We _did _render aid to you when you needed it."

"Yes, and I'm grateful to you for it," the other captain said. "And if you hadn't signaled your desperation so clearly, we probably wouldn't have been so well prepared for your attempt. I wish you safe travels, Captain – but not at the expense of _ours_."

T'Pol had earlier supplied the Illyrians with navigational charts of the anomalies, and she hoped those might have helped them survive their journey back. Of course, even if Trip made it there, at _Enterprise's_ current rate of speed he would die of old age before they could retrieve him.

That was only one of the reasons she was now focused on the warp coil. Achieving even a minimal warp one would at least allow them to resupply before shortages of food and other materials became life-threatening. If they could obtain a stable warp three, they might even be able to resume their mission to stop the Xindi from destroying Earth.

Ominously, however, nothing had been heard from Starfleet in 34 days. Of course, at this distance they were entirely dependent upon a network of communication relays that could have been disrupted by any number of failures.

She exchanged glances with Reed, Mayweather and Sato as she made her way across the Bridge, noting their curiosity - and wariness - about whatever was going on beyond the ready room door. The reason for this was explained when she walked in and saw Commander Shran sitting across from the captain.

"I'm told you could use a new warp coil," Shran said.

"We could," she agreed, and looked at Archer. His face was white. "Captain?"

He just shook his head.

"Earth was destroyed," Shran said. "Five weeks ago. The Xindi weapon was extremely effective."

"Why hasn't anyone communicated that to us?" The Vulcan High Command might have contacted them, at least.

"It was feared that subspace communications might help them target you," Shran said. "Those murdering Xindi have made it their mission to wipe out Humans wherever find them. Colonies, even research posts. We're sheltering some refugees on Andoria. Others are being sheltered on Vulcan. Of course, there's no guarantee they won't come after us next."

Archer finally spoke. "Shran's here to try to prevent that. Or so he says."

Shran scowled but didn't object to Archer's comment, which was certainly justified by the Andorian's duplicitous behavior the last time they'd worked together. "You people know more about the Xindi than anyone else does. I want your advice. We ... _I_ ... also stand to ready to assist you."

Archer got up abruptly and went to peer out his window.

T'Pol watched him. "I take it you have provided the captain with some _proof_ of Earth's destruction?"

Shran picked up an Andorian padd from the captain's desk and handed it to her. It was a recording made by a fleeing vessel as Earth shattered into rubble. Other documentation followed.

It was true, then. The entire population of Earth lost. Presumably as many as another billion Humans among the colonies. She wondered if Trip knew yet, wherever he was. "I grieve with thee, Captain," she said.

Archer's voice was hoarse. "I have to tell the crew."

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><p><strong>To be continued<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimers, etc. **in Chapter 1.

**Author's Note:** Thanks so much for the reviews!

* * *

><p>"How's it working out?" the captain asked.<p>

T'Pol and Rivers looked up from the Andorian warp coil assembly they were currently fitting into place. The Andorian engineer who had supervised its transfer to _Enterprise_ looked on, scowling, arms folded; clearly, she was no fan of Shran's decision to give it to them. A MACO stood nearby watching the proceedings and another stood at the hatch; this time Archer had let Reed detail a team to shadow every Andorian on board.

"It has not posed any significant difficulties so far," T'Pol reported. "Ensign Rivers believes we will be able to begin a test start in less than thirty minutes."

"Good. Are you going to be needed for that?"

T'Pol glanced at Rivers, who shook his head. With Lieutenant Hess likely to be incapacitated by her injuries at Azati Prime for some time to come, the young man had been pressed into leadership of Engineering and was performing to acceptable standards, although he was of course no Commander Tucker. "I don't believe so," she said.

"Come see me when you can," Archer said, and left.

The captain had broken the news about Earth first to his senior officers, and then to his crew – the latter in one large gathering in the shuttle bay. He had charged them with supporting each other through their losses, even as they moved on to their next steps: getting warp drive back on line, getting repaired and resupplied, and finding a way to help the remaining traces of Humanity escape ongoing threats from the Xindi and the sphere builders.

"It's the sphere builders who are our true enemy," Archer had declared. "They are the ones who manipulated the Xindi into destroying Earth. They believed we were the biggest threat against them. And they were right. We're _still _their biggest threat. Because, even now, we must find a way to stop them from transforming the galaxy we know into something in which life like ours cannot survive. Unless we stop them now, we can never hope to rebuild Humanity and regain what we have lost."

The reality, of course, was that the Humans could never regain what they had lost. (It also seemed certain that not even conveniently time-traveling saviors could save their planet, since all of Daniels' equipment had disappeared from the locked quarters where it had been kept.) Still, most of the crew seemed eager to grasp the hope Archer had offered them. She had once again been impressed with their resilience.

Since then, T'Pol had been dividing her time between engineering and marshaling the data they had accumulated to attempt to persuade a skeptical Shran and his officers about the threat the spheres and their makers posed to their mutual civilizations.

She stepped into the captain's ready room now, wondering what new assignment he would give her and whether this one would require listening to more thinly-veiled Andorian insults.

He looked up, smiled tightly, and said, "Once warp drive is functional, I want you to take _Enterprise_ to North Star, hopefully meet up with Trip again, and make that planet our new base of operations."

She stared at him, quite taken aback. It seemed to her the captain had developed a regrettable penchant for absenting himself from _Enterprise _at key moments. "And you?"

"I'm going with Shran. His science and tactical officers agree with your suggestion that destroying Sphere 41 should significantly disrupt the sphere network."

"I have not as yet developed an acceptable protocol for destroying it."

"We'll figure something out."

"In that case, I should go with you."

Archer sighed. "Ideally, yes. But I don't entirely trust the Andorians to get the job done. If we don't succeed, you'll have to give it another go. But get the ship and crew into better shape for it first. And leave some of the crew behind. There are too few Humans left in the universe to risk all of them."

"What if the settlements on North Star have already been destroyed by the Xindi?"

Archer's face turned stony. "Then the crew would be even safer. I doubt they would see any reason to return."

"Conversely, if they haven't discovered it yet, our presence might draw their attention."

He frowned. "There are no perfect solutions, T'Pol. Maybe you can help defend them. Bottom line, if we don't defeat the spheres, that settlement is doomed anyway." He got up and walked to the window, looking over at the _Kumari_. "Maintain communications silence – that might help keep the Xindi off your back." He turned around and tugged down his uniform. "You will know soon enough if we are successful."

"Captain," she said. "I am not certain I am the best individual to lead a Human crew under these circumstances. Nor do I feel I am particularly suited to negotiating with the Humans on North Star when we arrive."

"Trip should already be there. He'll help you."

"We had only the Illyrians' word that he would be left there. Even if they intended to, that system lay within a dangerous sector of space; their ship could easily have been damaged or destroyed in the interim." These were the things she told herself daily, in a somewhat irrational attempt to prevent an impractical degree of despair if and when it turned out that Trip was truly lost.

Archer cocked his head and regarded her curiously. "Then rely on Malcolm," he said. "And Hoshi. She has good instincts when it comes to diplomacy. But I trust your judgment. I'll rejoin you when I can."

She noticed that he didn't look at her as he said that. Perhaps he also thought it unlikely that anything short of a warp core breach could destroy a sphere.

Would Shran agree to sacrifice his ship for the greater good?

She considered confessing to the captain that he should _not_ trust her judgment – that she was still struggling in the aftermath of her Trellium-D addiction. She considered telling him that his crew and Humanity needed his leadership now more than ever, and that he must not throw his life away.

But she kept silent. It was true that the sphere builders must be stopped, and it was unlikely that anyone but Archer could persuade the Andorians to do what must be done.

Also, she very much wanted to know if Trip had made it to North Star after all.

x x x

Trip got up while it was still dark, carefully lit and hung an oil lamp, and began his morning duties: distributing the feed, raking out the soiled hay, forking in the fresh stuff. What would T'Pol think if she saw their Chief Engineer shoveling horse shit for a living? He snorted softly at the thought.

She had been in the dream he woke from that morning, her eyes big and soulful, telling him that they would meet again soon. Stupid subconscious. Clearly it didn't know when to stop torturing him.

Dreams aside, he was settling into his new routine. He paid for all his meals, plus a bath and laundry services once a week at a local boarding house run by a widow. He slept in an empty stall of the stable where he worked. Mr. Brady liked having someone on the premises at all times, and Trip preferred a bed roll on clean hay to the crowded dormitory options available to poor working men.

MacReady had said he could stay with him as long as he wished, but MacReady also kept asking Trip questions he either couldn't answer or didn't want to answer.

Chief among them: Where is _Enterprise_? Why hasn't anyone from Earth shown up here yet?

How to explain the Expanse to one of these people? How to explain the Xindi? The captain had elected not to, and after living here for over a month, Trip respected that decision more than he had at the time. Their paranoia about aliens was already bad enough. The other fellows at the widow's dinner table had only recently speculated, for example, that T'Pol must have been an agent of Satan.

"She had pointed ears," one said, with a significant look.

"All Vulcans have pointed ears," Trip said. "You gonna tell me she comes from a whole planet of Satan's agents? _Billions_ of Satan's agents?"

"Billions?" the man said, looking blank.

"Thousands upon thousands," Trip translated. "A whole planet full of them. And her people don't believe in Satan. They believe in logic."

"What do we all know about Satan?" one of the men countered. "We know that he's good at fooling people. Maybe he's fooled you, too, mister."

"She sure was a purty thing, that pointy-eared gal," another man said, with a toothless grin. "I'd let her fool _me_ if she wanted."

"That's why Satan _made _her purty - to fool you more," the first one said. "You got to watch those purty women. Alien _or_ human. They're _all _agents of Satan."

The men had all laughed at that. Widow Jonson, who couldn't have been a day over forty-five and would have still been considered 'purty' in Trip's world, stonily attended to the table as the men merrily moved on, slotting the other females of the town into various categories: good, hard-working, God-fearing women, women who got the vapors if they had to do any work, women who were so mean they wouldn't give a starving man a crumb from under their table, women who wanted to get ahead by driving their men like bluenoses, women who thought they were too good for you, and their favorite category: women who knew how to make a working man happy.

"And thank God for 'em," one of the men said, winking at Trip. "You been to see Bertha yet?"

"Bertha?" Trip said, noting Mrs. Jonson's disgusted frown.

"Well worth half a day's wages," the man said. "Well worth it. Who needs a wife when you've got Bertha? Especially if we have Widow Jonson here too, to cook us our meals and wash our clothes? Isn't that right, Mrs. Jonson?"

She scowled and turned her back on them. The men all laughed again.

That had actually been one of the tamer conversations. These men, who were mostly all scraping by on day wages and drinking any money they had left over, often complained viciously about the "Skags." To them it was an offense against nature that those "Skag droppings" were being educated now. And it was a real shame none of those people had been lynched lately. They were going to start getting ideas! The worst thing was, the Sheriff was humoring them instead of keeping them in line!

The reality, as far as Trip could see, was that the Skagarans still worked nothing but menial jobs and suffered sneers and harassment daily. Changes to anti-Skagaran laws had been debated but had not won passage. If Bennings hadn't been so generally disliked, MacReady had told Trip, he'd have been elected the new Sheriff by now.

Trip did what he could to set a better example. He would tell them that on Earth they had learned they could never achieve peace and justice without embracing equal rights for all - for women, too, he sometimes noted, which scandalized these fellows, too. But he didn't push too hard. He knew that most of the townsfolk – hell, even the Skagarans – distrusted him.

After all, he might just be in thrall to that pointy-eared devil woman.

Which was truer than they knew, he thought, and sighed. MacReady had asked far too many questions about T'Pol, too. How'd an alien gotten to be an officer on their ship? How'd a _woman_ gotten to be an officer on their ship? Why did she wear long underwear in public? Did he know he sometimes said her name in his sleep?

Yep, he was definitely better off in the stable.

The other thing MacReady asked too many questions about how he'd come to be with the Illyrians. First of all, there was the difficulty of explaining that without making his captain and crew – and himself - look pretty damned bad. Then there was the fact that he simply didn't want to have to think about that time at all. The Illyrians hadn't trusted him, so he'd been housed in a solitary cell in their brig with nothing to do but think. After a couple of weeks they began to let him out to work on menial tasks for a shift or two, then put him back in. The captain, on the rare occasions they met, treated him with chilly politeness, but some of the other crewmen – and they were all men – took the opportunity to push, shove, beat, threaten and generally humiliate him whenever they were sure they wouldn't get caught. One of his guards in particular had been never missed an opportunity to tell him all the various ways in which he might be killed. "Oh, we'll get justice from you one way or the other, don't you worry," he'd say. "Just when you think you're going free ... boom!"

Trip still flinched if someone got too close without warning.

"So why haven't your people come back for _you _at least?" MacReady had asked just the other day.

"Maybe if you people hadn't wrecked the equipment we left you, I could tell you," Trip had snapped. He'd tried fixing it his very first day there, but someone had stripped almost all its parts – probably for the metal. He'd tried to amplify his own communicator, which the Illyrians had returned to him, but that would only work if a ship were already in the system, and not behind any large objects either.

He still tried it once every morning and once every evening, before he went to bed. There was never an answer.

He finished his early morning rounds with the old grey mare, Maggie, who wouldn't mind if he leaned his head up against her for a little comfort as he worked. "You're my best girl now, aren't you, Maggie?" he said, and patted her flank.

She chomped her oats.

Maggie wasn't really his best girl, though. Some stubborn part of Trip was still holding out for the Vulcan in his dreams, even if the Vulcan in his dreams was the same Vulcan who'd backpedaled in a panic after their one dalliance.

In hindsight, he shouldn't have let her get away that. He should have pressed his advantage. After all, it had taken her less than 24 hours to remind him about neuro-pressure. He was the one who'd turned coy on her then, trying to flush her out, or maybe just trying to get even. Damned fool. He should have gone for the neuro-pressure. He probably could have mentioned any random female on the ship in an entirely offhand way and they'd have been kissing again within minutes.

But now? Even if they _were _trying to come get him, they would have had to rebuild that warp coil from scratch. They'd have anomalies to go around, and murderous Xindi to dodge. Not to mention a planet to save.

Logically, it wasn't going to happen, not anytime soon.

Logically, it would probably _never _happen.

But he kept waiting anyway.

* * *

><p><strong>To be continued<strong>


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimers, etc.** in Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** Thanks so much for the reviews!

* * *

><p>Jon missed his dog.<p>

He missed his crew too, but he was thankful that he didn't have to maintain a positive front for them right now when he was, just like them, coping with loss – and unlike them, feeling responsible for all that loss.

The Illyrian captain's comment that he had signaled his desperation gnawed at him. What if he hadn't? What if they hadn't lost Rivera or Trip? What if they'd made it to Degra's rendezvous? What if…

When he was being kind to himself, he'd reason that he had no way of knowing he was already planning to steal it from them. Wouldn't hiding his desperation have been a sign of even greater depravity than he'd ultimately resorted to?

Unfortunately, when you came right down to it, what did sinking into a little personal depravity mean versus the loss of billions of lives – your entire planet – the entire history and culture and physical location from which your ideas of what was and wasn't depraved came from in the first place?

So, clearly, he shouldn't have signaled his desperation. He should have maintained a poker face about the whole thing. Perhaps he should have withheld repairs to their life support systems until they handed it over. Why not? It was a fair bargain, if ruthless.

Too late now.

Porthos would have been a comfort. He never argued. He didn't demand a certain level of leadership. He adored his master and licked his face and kept him company and anchored him to the healthy day-to-day routines of life: feeding, walking, cleaning, sleeping. It would have been cozy to have a warm little body next to him on this miserably cold ship, too.

Shran, however, had refused to allow Porthos. And perhaps this was only fitting. Why should Jon have his pet when the rest of his crew had lost everyone?

Besides, Porthos probably had a better shot at surviving the next few months on _Enterprise_ than Jon did on the _Kumari_.

The door chimed, then slid open, and he looked up from his simulation, irritated. Shran never waited for permission to enter any room on his ship. He said it was a captain's prerogative.

Shran ignored his glare. "My surgeon has cleared us to start using the Trellium-D. I've put my engineers to work on it."

"Good. Maybe we can make faster progress once the _Kumari _is better protected." The anomaly fields had been growing in strength and number as they neared the location of Sphere 41.

"He also told me that one of your containers appears to have been pilfered."

Jon straightened in surprise. "What?"

"The contents don't match your inventory. There's over a kilo of ore missing. One of the containment capsules was empty – and another nearly empty."

Jon stared at him, quickly retracing in his mind the cargo containers' movements from _Enterprise_ to _Kumari_. Trellium-D did have a high market value in the Expanse. Who would have had access to the containers?

But that was crazy. Both crews were highly disciplined. Nor would anyone on either crew have the means to sell the substance. Even if they did, what would be the point of selling such a small quantity?

Shran said, "My surgeon took DNA samples from the containers. He suggested that you might want to run them against your crew roster."

"Well, there _should_ be some DNA – from whoever packed it. I suppose Trip or Malcolm might have tried to experiment with it, too." He would be surprised, though, if either would have quietly gone ahead and done something like that once they'd realized how toxic the material was for T'Pol.

"Some of the DNA was Vulcan," Shran said. "Perhaps your science officer couldn't resist unraveling the scientific mystery."

Jon felt a chill of apprehension. That would be a bit like T'Pol, wouldn't it? Even though she knew it was so dangerous to her? What if she had gotten some cockamamie idea that she could make it safe enough that _Enterprise _could use it? What if she had hoped to inure herself to it with controlled doses? Trip and Malcolm weren't the only officers who ever demonstrated quiet initiative on his ship.

All her odd behavior in recent months suddenly rose to his mind in startling clarity.

Also the look on her face when he'd ordered the Trellium-D transferred to the _Kumari_.

Oh great. Just great.

It wasn't bad enough that he'd utterly failed to stop the Xindi from destroying Earth.

Had he also left an irrational Vulcan in charge of his ship?

x x x

"Commander? Do you have a moment?"

T'Pol looked up from her work in the ready room at their helsman. "Ensign. What can I do for you?"

Mayweather grimaced in a poor imitation of his usual smile. "I was curious how long we're going to have to maintain a communications blackout."

"The captain suggested we maintain it until we are under the protection of friendly forces," T'Pol said. "But I'm sure you knew that. May I ask why you are inquiring?"

The young man twisted his hands together, then dropped them. "It's just … I have no idea whether my family is still alive or not."

"You must realize that attempting to contact them might compromise _them_ as well as us."

"Yes, but Hoshi is very good at encrypting messages. If the Xindi didn't recognize the transmission as Starfleet…"

"Ensign, I'm sorry, but the risk is too high. I do understand your frustration."

"Do you?"

She cocked her head and appraised him. Mr. Mayweather was not usually given to dark intimations. She decided that sharing her actual concerns with him might be beneficial. "I have a mother on Vulcan who is no doubt wondering whether I am still alive. I also have a great deal of curiosity about the captain's progress against the spheres, and about Commander Tucker's current status."

"With all due respect, ma'am, I doubt it's the same."

It was true that her home planet had not been destroyed, but she wasn't sure that was what he meant. "Because…?"

"Because you're Vulcan! Frustration is probably something you can put away after thirty seconds of rational consideration. It doesn't eat at you day and night."

Frustration obviously could not _eat_ a person, yet that particularly English colloquialism struck her as quite apt. In quiet moments, T'Pol often extrapolated endless possible scenarios for Trip, for Archer, for _Enterprise_, for herself. Phlox called it brooding and was full of cheerful advice for avoiding it, from adopting additional exercise to taking up an involving study or hobby. Thus far, T'Pol had not found any of these techniques any more helpful than meditation, and even meditation had its limits. "I wish that were true, Ensign. At this point in my life, I am not nearly as well-disciplined in 'putting away' my emotions as I should be. Meditation does help, however. I would be willing to teach you some basic techniques, if you'd like."

"I don't think that would work for me. I guess I'll just wait."

"Dr. Phlox may have other useful advice for you," she said, though she doubted it would prove any more effective for Mayweather than it had for her. "You and I are fortunate, Ensign. Unlike most of the crew, we have some hope of seeing our family and friends again."

"Maybe that's part of it," he said, and began to pace. "I feel guilty that I'm not really grieving as much as everyone else – except that for all I know I should be!" He threw his arms up. "So here I am … unable to do a damned thing about it … just waiting … and wondering…."

"I generally find it helpful to focus on my duty in frustrating situations."

"That's another thing!" he said, rounding on her. "Just what _is_ our duty? If there's no Earth left, what is Starfleet? Who are we taking orders from? Who do we represent?"

T'Pol stared at him. She had anticipated that some in the crew might begin to question her authority. It had never occurred to her that Mayweather would be the first to bring up issues with their current chain of command – and that it wouldn't have anything to do with her being Vulcan, but rather a far more fundamental question.

How many others were wondering this?

"The full extent of our duty remains to be determined," T'Pol said. "Until we have had a chance to repair and resupply, Captain Archer made our priorities quite clear: first, our own survival – second, the survival of any Humans we can find – and, as always, doing our best not to leave anyone behind."

Mayweather suspended his pacing and appeared to consider this. "I guess that makes as much sense as anything."

"I appreciate your sharing your concerns with me, Ensign," she said. "Was there anything else?"

"No, ma'am."

"Then you are dismissed," she said softly.

Mayweather's parting smile was slightly more genuine than it had been when he came in.

T'Pol stared at Archer's desk. Now what? The captain hadn't seemed to have anticipated any of these questions – his goals had transitioned seamlessly from saving Earth to saving the known galaxy. He'd taken it for granted that his crew would fall in line. And maybe they would have, for him. But for her? If Mayweather was bringing this up, surely others were discussing it as well.

Once again, she wished Trip were here. He would know what to do.

Or would he? She remembered the anger and depression that had overtaken him in the wake of his sister's death. Now he'd lost everyone else. Even his home planet. How would he handle that?

As much as she longed to see him, it occurred to her that perhaps, in that regard at least, it might be better for him if he never knew.

x x x

"You can't do it," Trip said. "You can't have a span this large unless you support it properly." He pointed at the man's grubby, penciled two-dimensional plans, which had been primitively drawn in a vague approximation of proper scale. "Here, here, here, here," he said. "What you need to do is to add four substantial supporting columns under two strong cross-beams here and here."

"What do you mean by 'substantial'?" Jenner said.

Trip pulled out the sheet of paper where he'd worked the equations. "Assuming your roof is shingled with wood shakes in the usual way - nothing heavier - the columns and beams need to be at least 8 x 8, and that's assuming top quality. No big knots, no cracks."

Jenner scowled. "Do you have any idea the premium Gunderson demands for wood like that?"

If the settlers had managed their admittedly unimpressive local forests better, or even had a clue how to manufacture composites, they wouldn't have such a shortage of quality lumber. But Trip knew that wasn't the kind of observation anyone here appreciated. "It's still your best bet," he insisted.

"It's not worth it."

"You can get by with thinner columns if you increase the number of them. There might be ways to incorporate them that won't interfere with your layout too much. I can help you with that if you want, for a little more. Bottom line, though: I guarantee you that if you build this the way you've drawn it, that roof is going to come down. It may just start slumping a little at first, but sooner or later it's going to fail completely - probably on the first windy day. _I'm_ sure as hell never going to step foot under it."

Jenner glared him. "What makes you so certain of that?"

"You're welcome to check my math." He slid the equations over.

The man glanced down and flushed red. Trip had heard from Bethany that Jenner couldn't even read beyond the most basic level; when he had proven to be an indifferent student, his family had set him to work instead of sending him to school. This was not an uncommon phenomenon on North Star, nor had it necessarily been an unwise decision. Jenner was certainly doing a hell of a lot better than Trip was.

Embarrassing the man might not be helping, of course. "Look, this is just what engineers _do_. I went to _school_ for this." Not that he'd had to build any wooden structures after his introductory classes, but Jenner didn't need to know that.

"If you're so damned smart, why are you cleaning out stables for a living?"

Trip considered just walking away. Unfortunately, he really needed to develop his trade here, or he truly might have to try to survive as a stable hand for the rest of his life.

He scratched his head now, trying to think of another solution. "Don't suppose you have been building anything with concrete around here? You ought to, with all this sand around."

"Concrete?"

"It's like mortar, only reinforced with wire to make it stronger. You build a wooden mold with wire mesh or steel rods in the middle, pour in a slurry of sand and cement - you have quick lime, right? Dry it, cure it, and you've got yourself a column."

Jenner scowled. "Wire and steel are a hell of a lot harder to come by than wood."

That was true. Maybe Trip should start a steel mill. _Trip Tucker, steel magnate._ But first he'd have to become a mining magnate, or talk someone else into doing it. He sighed. "Look, how hard can it be to find six decent trees? You can trim them up yourself without getting Gunderson involved; there are plenty of men who know how to do it by hand. The road's not so bad between the forests and here that you couldn't take a crew out to do it and transport them back. Your new arcade lasts for generations. It'll be the most impressive building folks around here have ever seen." Maybe buttering the guy up a little would help.

"I wasn't counting on this kind of additional expense."

"You keep building and you'll learn to expect the unexpected," Trip said. "Of course, a good engineer can head off most of the worst surprises. Next time get your architect to work with me earlier in the process."

Jenner stared blankly at him.

Oh, of course. _What _architect? Maybe Trip should start a technical institute instead of a mine or a mill. But would any of these people be willing to pay tuition? Or pay anything for the expertise that resulted? "Look, I've given you my professional opinion. What you do with it is up to you. That'll be one dollar, as we agreed."

That earned him another disgusted glare. "Stop by my office for it at the end of the week."

"That I will. Thank you, sir." He tipped his hat – MacReady had recently given him the clothing of man they'd hanged for stealing a horse – then left Jenner's office and walked back to the stable.

One dollar was the cost of four bottles of whiskey or a new shirt and a pair of socks. Trip would have just saved it against a future need, but the banking system in town pretty much consisted of letting the owner of the saloon or the owner of the general store hold onto one's extra cash. Otherwise, people carried it on them and hoped they didn't get robbed, or hid it and hoped it didn't get found. People caught stealing could end up hanged, but that didn't keep it from happening.

MacReady had actually offered him a job as a deputy, but Trip just couldn't see himself enforcing laws with such draconian penalties. As far as he could tell, most of the people convicted of crimes in this town were trying to survive in a world without any social services, hopeless drunks, or mostly guilty of being Skagaran. The others were scoundrels, but he didn't think they deserved to be strung up for larceny either.

He decided he'd figure out what to do with the money once he actually had it. But he knew he was going to have to find some way to accumulate some savings or claim some land if he ever wanted to break out of his current existence.

Maybe he really should dig a mine, though it was not exactly a career path he'd ever envisioned for himself. He wished T'Pol had loaded some of the more detailed planetary scans they'd taken on Bethany's padd. How would he even know where to dig without a good scanner at hand?

Maybe he could apprentice himself to whoever had already manufactured the scant supply of over-priced metal there was. It couldn't _all_ have been melted down from the Skagaran ship and Enterprise's communications equipment, could it?

This was, of course, assuming that _Enterprise_ wasn't going to suddenly swoop into orbit and take him away from all this. He still hoped for that, but he was beginning to accept that it might take years. Hell, he might be an old man before someone showed up.

It might never happen at all.

This really might be the rest of his life.

* * *

><p><strong>To be continued<strong>


	4. Chapter 4

**DISCLAIMERS, etc.** in chapter 1.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** This chapter is all Trip. Many thanks as always, reviewers. I should perhaps note that I am using guesswork and google and canon to try to determine what the Humans on this planet might reasonably be able to do and not do. It's a unique technobabble challenge and undoubtedly doomed to occasional implausibility.

* * *

><p>Bethany stopped into the stable one afternoon after she had dismissed school and watched quietly as Trip Tucker brushed down one of the horses. It had gotten around that he was good with them – that he'd even, finally, gotten to be something other than laughable at riding them.<p>

Perhaps it had something to do with his focus, for he seemed quite absorbed in the work.

"Bethany?" he said, when he finally looked up and noticed her standing there. "Everything all right?"

"Everything's fine," she said. "I came by to ask if you're finally going to come to a dance."

He snorted and switched to the other side of the horse. "Nope."

"Why not?"

"Don't care to."

"I can teach you the steps, if that's what you're worried about."

"I know how to dance – at least, I think I do."

"So why not come?"

"Don't want to."

"Why not?"

"Why are you pestering me?"

"Because I know of at least three ladies who are eager to be your partner," she said. "And I'll dance with you too, if you're not too awful."

He smiled. "I believe I know a sheriff in town who might not appreciate that."

"Unless and until Mr. MacReady makes his intentions known, he has no say one way or the other," she said pertly. Russell MacReady's principled defense of education for the Skagarans had earned him a place in her heart, but as he never did anything but blush at her it wasn't a very big place yet. "And you're _supposed_ to change partners, even if you come with someone. It's just fun. And there's not enough of that in this town."

Trip grunted. "There's a group that plays music at the saloon Thursday night. That's fun."

"You know perfectly well that nice women can't go in that saloon. Why don't you come play at the dance?"

"Because I don't want to."

"Why not?" she said. "You could have all the eligible ladies in town fighting over you."

He gave her a disgusted look. "Why would I want that? Not that they _would _fight over me. I work in a stable. I smell like horses."

"That's why people take baths, Mr. Tucker. Also, you shouldn't underestimate the appeal of not being anyone's cousin."

He continued brushing the horse. Long, comfortable strokes. And that's when it finally occurred to her. "There's someone you're waiting for, isn't there?"

His quick glance told her everything. Which was fortunate, since he didn't say a word, just patted the horse's rump and moved on to the next stall.

"Have I met her?"

He started humming.

"All right," she said. "But what if your people never come? You shouldn't have to live this way forever. Widow Jonson told me she'd marry you in a thrice if you asked."

He stopped, brush in hand, and stared at her in obvious horror. _"What?"_

"She said you're a good man with good habits and she's certain you'll make more of yourself over time."

"Why would you even _tell _me that?"

"Oh, don't fret. She also said she knows she's too old to attract a strapping young man like you. But in a few years, if whoever it is never shows up… she could sure use some help, and she has that big house…"

He groaned.

She laughed. "In the meantime, you need to get out more. 7 o'clock Saturday at the church."

x x x

Saturday, a newly-bathed Trip collected his clean clothing from Widow Jonson – careful to avoid any unnecessary eye contact – and went back to the stable. Tom Brady, the owner's son he and T'Pol had dealt with their first day on the planet, greeted him with a grin and said, "Make the most of your night off!"

Trip grimaced and ducked into his stall to quickly get out of his worn _Enterprise_ uniform – his Friday into Saturday gear, since it was his only other set of clothes. He folded it neatly for use the next laundry day, then got back into what he still thought of as his cowboy gear, even though there were no actual cows on this planet.

He put his harmonica in his pocket – Tom had taken pity on him and returned it in exchange for a bottle of whiskey – and headed out the door, pausing as he decided what to do.

He could go to the dance.

He could go to the saloon.

That was pretty much it.

Out of curiosity, he walked down to the end of town where the town's church stood on a slight rise, and listened from far enough outside the attached hall that no one passing by would assume he was going in. The musicians were playing traditional 16-bar reels and jigs, and someone was calling steps. He heard at least two fiddles, a drum, a penny whistle. No piano. A harmonica probably wouldn't be such a bad thing in the mix.

Since no one was coming or going, he indulged his curiosity and worked his way close enough to see through the open doors. From his vantage point there was a great deal of jumping and stomping and swinging, allemandes left and right, do-si-dos … all the usual. Folk dancing had been a requirement in middle and high school physical education, where he'd secretly enjoyed it. Later, one of his college girlfriends had been into it in a big way. He'd accompanied her to a number of dances before they broke up. After that he'd felt he couldn't go to any more, for she would be there, and dances like that made it nearly impossible to avoid a person you didn't wish to see, or dance with, or touch.

Which was exactly the problem now.

He blinked, realizing with a start that _he simply did not want to touch any of those women_.

When the hell had _that_ happened? Had captivity by the Illyrians somehow ruined him?

Or was it T'Pol?

But that was crazy. It wasn't like they were married. She had no claim on him, not really - especially after she'd more or less called him an experiment. Even if he didn't buy that for a minute, she wasn't here. She probably wasn't _ever _going to be here.

He had to be lonely, didn't' he? And here, just in front of him, was a room full of pretty young women glowing with exercise, bouncing and smiling and showing off. Shouldn't he find a little friendly contact with the opposite sex appealing? He always had before.

Yet the thought of it repelled him.

He turned around and headed back down the street.

What the hell was wrong with him?

x x x

"Why aren't you at the dance?" MacReady slid into the seat next to him at the bar.

"I could ask you the same." Trip had already downed one whisky while brooding about the strange change in his basic temperament.

"Bethany sent me after you. She saw you peeking in the door."

"I just couldn't make myself go in."

MacReady signaled for a drink of his own. "Why not?"

Trip shook his head. "You should get back."

MacReady downed his own drink and signaled for another round. "Maybe it's for the best."

Trip squinted at him. "Me not being there, or you?"

"Me. But go ahead and tell me why it's better for you."

Trip scowled.

Trip joined him in the next drink. The initial burn of this rotgut whisky was brutal, but the sensation of spreading calm that followed it more than made up for it. And that, unfortunately, was exactly how he could get himself into trouble. "Thanks, but that's my limit."

"My treat," MacReady said casually, carefully not looking at him. Trip had noticed that men often took pains to respect each other's dignity in this hardscrabble world.

"It's not money," he said. "Ever tried shoveling a stable full of horse shit when you have a hangover?" He swallowed, a little nauseated just remembering the aftermath of his last attempt to find solace in a bottle.

MacReady chuckled. "If you became a deputy for me, you wouldn't have to shovel horse shit anymore. _Bullshit,_ now…."

Trip just smiled.

"I really don't understand why you turn it down. It's a decent living. No more sleeping on hay, no more waking up to ... shit."

"I told you. You folks hang a man way too easily for my taste."

"We're not living in your nice clean happy future here. Not yet. Until we catch up, someone's got to protect lives and property."

Trip shook his head. "With only seven thousand or so people on this entire planet, maybe you should think about valuing those _lives _a little higher than that property."

"Is that how many we have? How many Skagarans?"

"That's including the Skagarans."

"Oh." At least he had the decency to look a little embarrassed. "I don't write the laws, Tucker. I just enforce them." He leaned back. "Now I suppose it's just as well you're not one of my deputies, if you're afraid of a little _dance…_"

Trip gave him a disgusted look.

MacReady laughed and ordered another drink, just for himself. He raised it in a toast: "To horse shit." After he swallowed it down, he said. "You could have just played that mouth organ of yours, you know."

Trip stared at the picture of Cooper Smith that hung over the bar. He could hear the men of the saloon murmuring and occasionally hollering their way through their card games and conversation. "I don't really understand why I couldn't do it."

MacReady eyed him skeptically.

Trip said, "I guess… when you come right down to it, I want _my _people. Not your people." He shook his head. "I know that's not very helpful. And I'm not usually like that! But this time, for whatever reason…" He shook his head as if to clear it. "I can't help how I feel."

"It can be hard to let go of the people you've lost."

Trip said, "Have you lost someone?"

Now it was MacReady's turn to stare up at Smith. "I had a wife. Charlotte Louise. Died in childbirth eight years ago."

"I'm sorry," Trip said, surprised that he'd never heard this.

"She was just an itty-bitty little thing. Barely seventeen when we married. I should never have done that to her. The baby was just too big. Two days she labored to have it – a little boy. The doc finally sliced her open to get it, but she was all worn out. Lost a lot of blood. She never woke up."

"And your son?" Trip asked.

MacReady just shook his head. "If she and I had married in _your_ world, I'd be a husband and father now. But as it is…" He sighed. "You ever notice how _petite _Bethany is?"

"Oh." Trip finally got it.

"You're not the _only_ one waiting for your people. From what I've read, your doctors can work miracles."

"It must seem that way to you," Trip said. "Does Bethany know why you're waiting?"

"No, and don't you go blabbing about it either," MacReady said. "I know her. She'd say she was happy to take her chances. And maybe she would be. But I'm not. I swore to myself I'd never do that to any woman ever again."

Trip thought of pointing out that it was probably not something MacReady had _done_, but then he remembered that nobody on the planet – including Bethany herself – seemed to realize that she was part Skagaran. Although that certainly suggested the two species could breed safely, he decided he'd better stick to what he knew best and leave reproductive medicine for others.

"Let me ask you a question," MacReady said.

Trip waited.

"Suppose your people showed up _tomorrow_. How do you think they'd be welcomed?"

What did it matter? They could just pick him up and leave. But he supposed the sheriff deserved a more thoughtful answer than that. "With suspicion," Trip said. "A fair number of folks in this town seem bound and determined to equate our first officer's pointed ears with Satan."

MacReady grunted. "And how does your avoiding polite society help to dispel any of that suspicion?"

"What are you talking about?"

"This saloon is not polite society. Widow Jonson's table is not polite society. You skip the dances. You never show up at church."

"I'm not religious."

"You think _everyone_ sitting in those pews believes that crap?" MacReady signaled the barman for his tab and insisted on adding Trip's to it. "There are things you just have to do if you want to get anything done in this town."

Trip stared at him. While not a believer himself, he respected other people's faith. And he'd never have taken MacReady for a hypocrite.

The sheriff rose from his stool and gave him a wallop on the back in parting. "Think about it."

**To be continued**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimers, etc.** in Chapter 1

**Author's Notes:** And on we go. Next chapter, those of you who want Trip and T'Pol in the same room will be happier.

* * *

><p>Malcolm and Hayes arrived together, flushed from yet another drill designed to hone their teams' skills at repelling Xindi boarders, to find the rest of the senior staff already gathered around the situation table. T'Pol waited for them to find places, then said, "Mr. Baird?"<p>

Baird coughed uncomfortably and Malcolm reflected that there must be some unavoidable extra pressure attached to taking over the science officer's position when your CO was the person who'd last held it. "As you can see," Baird said, pointing, "Forward scans indicate a larger array of anomalies across our current course than we were anticipating."

Malcolm stared down at the chart on the situation room table, willing it to mean something quickly so he wouldn't feel stupid. Yes, there was their course. There was their current position. And there… _ah._ Yes. That _was_ rather an awful lot of red.

T'Pol said, "These are anomalies we didn't encounter the last time we traversed this route?"

"Correct," Baird said. "Red indicates areas that were clear on our way out. These anomaly fields appear to have extended over 200,000 kilometers beyond those predicted by past charts and models. Previously-identified anomaly fields are indicated in purple. To a much smaller degree, we're also seeing new areas of transformed space arising – those are marked in green."

"Degree of expansion of the anomaly fields?" T'Pol asked.

"23%," Baird said promptly.

"Is it accelerating?" T'Pol asked.

Baird said, "On average, yes - but I can't as yet determine a predictive model that works with the data we've collected. The acceleration appears to be random."

Malcolm exchanged concerned glances with Hoshi and Travis. "What would cause that?"

Baird said, "Intelligent agency by the sphere builders is the most obvious possibility. Or, there might be one or more amplifying or retarding factors that we haven't yet identified."

T'Pol began to slowly circle behind the officers gathered at the table. Malcolm watched her curiously – that was rather odd behavior from T'Pol, wasn't it? He shot a querying look at Hoshi, who gave him a tiny shrug in return.

T'Pol said, "If we project an average rate of expansion similar to what we have seen thus far, what can we anticipate over the course of the next month?"

Baird pulled up another chart and animated it. Red zones gradually ballooned between them and North Star. T'Pol stopped and studied the fields' final positions.

"Can we even _get_ there from here?" Malcolm asked.

Travis said, "We can, but it's going to take longer to go around all those fields."

T'Pol said, "And after we get there, it is unclear whether we will be able to escape the Expanse before it becomes untenable for ship's operations._"_

Malcolm said, "With the barrier there, escaping the Expanse was not necessarily an option to begin with."

"The _Kumari_ left and returned," T'Pol said.

"The Kumari has a stronger hull – and shields," Malcolm reminded her.

Hoshi said, "I guess this means the captain was right about destroying the sphere network."

T'Pol said, "Yes, but it would appear to be a far more urgent task than even he had anticipated."

Hayes said, "I should probably know this, but what happens to an inhabited planet that gets swallowed up by one of these red zones?"

T'Pol looked at her science officer to answer, so Baird flushed slightly and said, "An atmosphere and a planet's own magnetic field might provide some protection from the effects. But the gravitational fields that hold a star system together would eventually become unstable … which would result in…" He sighed. "Bad things."

Malcolm growled, "I hope that happens to the Xindi before it happens to anyone else."

"Damned straight," Travis said.

"That is hardly a helpful sentiment," T'Pol admonished them. "This finding raises two obvious questions. One, is it time to drop our communications blackout in order to warn other species of the danger? Two, should we abandon our current mission to North Star in favor of assisting the captain and the Andorians in destroying Sphere 41?"

Baird quickly said, "That last option would be somewhat problematic." He slid the new star chart back in the opposite direction, to where Sphere 41 sat surrounded by a broad field of red … and some green, too.

Malcolm felt his mouth fall open and snapped it closed. "_Enterprise_ would never make it through that."

Hoshi said, "That leaves the question of communications."

Malcolm said, "And that could tell the Xindi where to start looking for us."

T'Pol said, "Once they see this data, the Xindi _should_ have more immediate concerns than finding us, though it would be foolhardy to expect a logical response from them. Ensign Sato and I will devise a warning that includes the relevant data, and broadcast it generally as well as to our allies beyond the Expanse. Perhaps they will finally recognize the growing risk and take action. In the meantime, Mr. Mayweather, I would like you to plot a course to North Star that avoids the anomalies, yet might also remain unpredictable to anyone who might wish to do us harm."

Mayweather frowned and nodded thoughtfully, staring down at the chart.

T'Pol turned to her side. "Ensign Sato, after you and I prepare the general warning, perhaps you could work with Ensign Mayweather on embedding a message that might reach his family on the_ Horizon_."

Mayweather looked up, clearly surprised, and broke into a huge grin. "Thank you, Commander!"

Surprised, Malcolm watched T'Pol and Sato exit into the ready room. T'Pol was actually going to let Travis try to contact his family?

That was a rather sentimental decision, surely?

Hayes said, "Isn't breaking the comm. blackout taking a pretty big risk, if they're looking for us?"

"Captain Archer would have done exactly the same," Malcolm said, and meant it. Still, he wondered if he should be concerned about T'Pol. In the past, he would have relied on Trip to notice if something was off with her, but _Malcolm_ was her second now.

Yet another reason to hope Trip would be waiting for them at North Star.

Of course, any reunion would be temporary if the planet and _Enterprise _were equally doomed by the transformation underway.

x x x

During the first hymn, Trip quietly stepped into the church and grabbed a seat in the last pew. He hadn't wanted to excite any attention. He carefully focused on the neatly hand-written hymnal, avoiding eye contact, but it still seemed to him that every head in the pews in front of him turned his way for at least a moment.

He'd decided to take MacReady's advice. Maybe this was what it was going to take to allay the townsfolk's enduring suspicion. If nothing else, it was something new to do in a town that didn't offer much in the way of entertainment.

As far as he was concerned, though, MacReady might be dead wrong. It might just make people _more _suspicious, especially when they noticed he wasn't wearing a set of proper church clothes and didn't seem to have a clue what was going on, or just couldn't bear to return the following week. That would just confirm that he was a terrible heathen.

It wasn't that Trip had never been to church. Although his parents were not believers, his grandmother had dragged him to services and other church activities from time to time. He hadn't hated it, exactly – he'd rather liked the music. But he had never found anything particularly compelling there compared to having Sunday morning to get out on the Gulf or pull apart engines. Certainly he'd never felt God speaking to him, or that Christ was his personal savior, or that the people in the church had anything over the people outside of it - beyond, perhaps, readier access to gossip.

At this service, the readings focused on the Jews wandering in the desert, and Jesus in the desert, too, and the sermon took off from there. Trip was not surprised that the Reverend Miller drew parallels between the Egyptians as slave owners and the Skagarans, but Miller then surprised him by preaching that just as the Egyptians had been capable of experiencing God's forgiveness and love, so were the Skagarans. A few people shifted in their pews or made faces at each other, but there was no outraged rush for the exits.

So perhaps things were changing here, if slowly.

Then again, there wasn't a single Skagaran present.

In the church hall afterwards, Trip helped himself to the free coffee and refreshments and smiled politely and made small talk with people who for the most part seemed a little rattled to see him there. Bethany shook his hand and said, "It's about time." MacReady merely nodded at him from across the room.

The Rev. Miller said, "What brings you to us at last, Mr. Tucker?"

"The sheriff suggested I come along, sir. I'm sorry I'm not as well turned out as I should be."

Miller chuckled. "Sheriff wanted you to serve some hard time in the pew, did he? He was probably jealous of your freedom on Sunday mornings. I couldn't care less how you dress, although I'm sure there are some who would reprove me for that. Come regularly enough, and the ladies guild might just undertake to dress you themselves, as a matter of charity."

"I don't need…"

"…of course you don't," Miller said smoothly. "But it does _their _souls good, so consider taking them up on it when the time comes. Are you a praying man, Mr. Tucker?"

"No, sir."

"Know your Bible?"

Trip grimaced. "Not really."

"Well, if you ever want to borrow a copy, let me know. You're in a peculiar exile here with us, aren't you? You never know, you might enjoy the reading. I certainly enjoy reading that device Bethany was given. I wish she'd part with it more often."

"I know the feeling," Trip said. He'd thought of begging Bethany to let him rig up the device to a screen so he could show movies, but the challenge of actually achieving that with the supplies he had at hand had put at least a temporary stop to that effort.

"If your people ever show up, do you think they might see fit to give this poor preacher one to use as well?"

"I don't see why not." Archer and T'Pol had distributed one padd and database to each Human settlement, for educational purposes. It wasn't nearly enough, but then it had already been a challenge for Trip's crew to fabricate enough solar rechargers for all of them, especially since they'd had no idea how soon their mission would allow them to resupply the required parts.

"A fair number of Bibles made the trip out with our ancestors," Miller said. "But very little in the way of scholarship. I believe I could happily spend years catching up."

"I liked your sermon," Trip said. "I was relieved it wasn't all hellfire and damnation."

Miller smiled. "I feel much more called to share God's love than God's wrath. You ever just want to talk, now, you feel free to step into the church or the parsonage. It must be lonely for you, not knowing when or if you'll see your home again." He squeezed Trip's arm companionably, then walked off.

Trip blinked back sudden tears, surprised and embarrassed by his reaction to the man's compassion, and decided he'd better run for it before someone tried to make him an usher.

x x x

"It's pretty simple," Jon said, in one of the _Kumari's_ meeting rooms. "We load up a shuttle with matter/antimatter torpedos, I pilot it into the interior of the sphere, and I detonate them – or you do."

Shran scowled. "I thought Humans frowned on suicide."

"I don't love this solution either," Jon said. "But it's better than risking all hands. I'm a good pilot, and this is my fight. In fact, this is what we tried to do with the weapon when we found it."

Talla, Shran's tactical officer, rather acidly said, "The same weapon that later blew up your planet?"

Jon ignored her – he'd discovered that it was the best way to piss her off when she was being snide with him – and turned to Shran. "It would have worked if I hadn't been intercepted."

Shran's antennae stood up straight in surprise. "_I?_ You really _must _have a death wish, pink skin."

"Better me than my crew," Jon said. He was conscious that this was not something any admiral at Starfleet would agree with, but then he was also quite sure none of them had been forced to make the kind of decisions he had in the last year. "That applies even better here, with _your_ crew."

"I wouldn't say that," Shran said. "You pink skins are an endangered species now. Don't be so quick to drop your numbers even further." He turned to Talla. "You said Astrometrics had some new findings?"

"Yes," she said, with a withering look at Archer. "Scans are indicating a significant change to the space around sphere 41."

Looking at the visual, Jon blew out a long frustrated breath. He recognized the new field all too well, for _Enterprise _had pulled a transdimensional alien out of one not so very long ago. "I'm afraid this operation just got a lot more complicated."

**To be continued…**


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimers, etc.** in Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** Okay, shippers, this is where things get more interesting for you. (And thank you so much, reviewers.)

* * *

><p>Stephen Hayes had always figured the rumors about T'Pol and Commander Tucker were the result of Amanda Cole not liking to be turned down for no good reason.<p>

Just in case he was wrong about that, though, he'd asked Reed about it when the man had finally started working _with_ him instead of regarding him as the greatest threat to his existence after the Xindi.

"I'm not going to say there's no attraction there," Reed had said. "They _are _pretty close – anyone can see that. But I don't see romance as very likely. One, she's Vulcan. Two, Commander Tucker takes his duties a lot more seriously than you might guess from his general manner."

Hayes found it peculiar that Reed, like many others in the crew, still referred to Tucker in present tense. And _duty_ seemed an unlikely reason for Tucker to turn down Cole, who wasn't even in his chain of command. Besides, Hayes had never seen Archer raise the slightest concern about fraternization even among people who _were,_ even when they held hands right in front of him! It wasn't just Archer, either. In the wake of Earth's destruction, the crew had begun to pair up pretty frantically, and T'Pol had not said a single word to discourage it. "I don't suppose it matters, now, anyway," he said.

Reed's tone turned distinctly frosty. "Let's not give up on Commander Tucker yet, please, Major."

"No, of course not, Lieutenant." Perhaps this touching but irrational faith that they would someday reunite with Mr. Tucker was somehow helping the crew to cope with all their other losses, or the uncertainty of their current situation. Or maybe it was some strange hangover from that bizarre episode with the clone.

Hayes just hoped they wouldn't all fall apart when they finally arrived at North Star if the engineer was nowhere to be found.

x x x

When they entered orbit, T'Pol had been in the captain's chair – or pacing around it – for hours. Hayes had been cross-training with Reed on Tactical, and casually stayed on the bridge even after his training session ended. Fortunately, their CO appeared too distracted to ask him what he was doing on the bridge off-duty. After weeks and weeks of tediously dodging anomalies, he didn't want to miss this.

T'Pol crisply requested scans of the settlements.

"I'm not seeing any significant change," Baird at the science console told her. "Approximately 6,100 Humans, almost 1,000 Skagarans."

"Commander!" Sato said. "I'm reading Commander Tucker's communicator!"

T'Pol stood up and stared at the communications officer.

Everyone in turn stared at T'Pol, waiting for the expected command.

Finger poised, Sato finally asked, "Shall I hail him?"

"Are we certain it's _him_?" Reed said, and looked at Baird. "Is there anyone with him?"

Everyone looked over at Baird, who zeroed in on the location. "The bio-sign is Human," he said. "But there are also a number of…" He frowned and did a little adjusting, then looked up, clearly bemused. "Horses."

"It's the middle of the night down there," Sato said. "That's kind of an odd situation in which to be sleeping."

"I believe I am familiar with the location," T'Pol said calmly, but Hayes noticed that her hands had tightened into near-fists at her side. "Perhaps Commander Tucker traded his communicator for the use of a horse. Major Hayes, gather a small team and join me at the transporter. Lieutenant Reed, you have the con."

x x x

They materialized in a dark cavernous room that smelled strongly of horses, horse piss, horse crap, and hay, smells that vividly reminded Stephen of his horse-crazy Aunt Margie – gone now, along with everything else on Earth. Equine whinnies greeted them.

Hayes hurried to keep up with T'Pol as she turned decisively on her heel and headed for the last stall, her flash light illuminating the way. Once there, she pulled open the rustic wooden gate and shined her light on a man who had just begun to rise from a blanket on a bed of hay. A couple of barn cats crouched and stared, their eyes eerily glowing, before slinking into the dark.

The man shielded his face. "What the-?"

"Trip," she said softly, surprising Hayes with her informality. She redirected her light towards the floor, but there was enough still bouncing around that Hayes could see the man's mouth fall open in stunned recognition.

"T'Pol?" He leapt up. "For _real?_" Tucker's hair was long and mussed with sleep. He was sporting perhaps a week's growth of facial hair and his clothing consisted of a wrinkled undershirt and a pair of slightly-too-short brown pants that must both have been native to the settlement. His feet were bare.

"Yes, for real," she said, and subtly inclined her head back towards Hayes.

If that had been a warning to Tucker that they were not alone, it went unheeded. Grinning broadly, he ran to their CO, picked her right off the ground in a tight hug, and buried his head in her neck.

To Hayes' astonishment, the Vulcan not only accepted this embrace, but wrapped her own arms around him in return.

Embarrassed, Hayes backed out of the stall and checked that his men had taken their perimeter stations as expected. And yes, of course, they were exactly where they were supposed to be.

He looked back. Those two were _still _entangled. He turned his back and doggedly monitored his scanner for any nearby movement.

So had Reed been covering for his colleagues or had he simply not known?

"Earth?" he heard Tucker ask, and then, "T'Pol?"

Tucker would not have known yet, of course. Hayes felt a lump rise to his own throat, helplessly reminded of the moment he'd first received that terrible news.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"_Everyone_?" Tucker's voice was thin and stunned. "The whole planet?"

"It's a cloud of debris," she said, which struck Hayes as unnecessarily brutal. "The colonies were also attacked, but with more conventional weapons. Shran was unsure of the survivor count, but there are some."

There was silence.

"I grieve with thee," she added.

More silence. Hayes checked. Yep, still in each other's arms.

Another minute passed. His men glanced his way. This simple retrieval operation was taking too long. He decided to engage in a little strategic throat clearing.

"Are you quite all right, Major?" T'Pol asked. She extricated herself from Tucker, who bent down and started pulling on a rustic pair of socks, then some rather battered-looking Starfleet-issue boots.

"I'm fine, Ma'am," Hayes said.

Tucker straightened up. "I'm almost afraid to ask, but what about the cap'n? The ship? Everyone else?"

T'Pol said, "Captain Archer is on the _Kumari_ with Commander Shran, presumably still attempting to disable the sphere network. _Enterprise _is in orbit. The crew has not suffered any further losses." She pointed at the small collection of possessions neatly stacked next to his bed of hay: a book, a hat, and next to it, his Starfleet uniform and a harmonica. "You got it back?"

"Tom didn't really have the knack." Tucker shrugged on a striped shirt that had been hanging on a nail and quickly buttoned it up. He picked up the small instrument and shoved it in a pocket. "I sure hope you used your nasal inhibitor today. Bath day isn't until tomorrow."

"You _are_ somewhat aromatic," she said, to which Tucker smiled grimly. "I imagine you are eager to return to _Enterprise_."

"You imagine right," Tucker said, but he also scratched his head and looked around anxiously. "How long before dawn?"

Hayes checked his scanner. "Two and a half hours."

Tucker sighed. "Okay. Let me rouse Tom, and then I can go."

Hayes and T'Pol both stared at him. "Why would you wish to delay your departure?" she asked.

"I can't just walk off the job. Horses need to eat. Horses can also can get stolen."

"Can you 'rouse Tom' without alerting him or the rest of the town to our presence?" To Hayes' ears, T'Pol sounded a bit testy.

"Yeah, sure," he said. "Stay here. I'll be right back." He put on the hat and jacket that were hanging on the wall, struck a match to light an oil lamp, and said, "You might want to keep that light down. Anyone who sees that blue glow will know something strange is going on in here."

Hayes stared after the man as he exited out the back. T'Pol reduced the power on her light to a faint glow and stared after him, too.

"Shall I have Chang shadow him?" Hayes asked her softly.

"I would hope the commander can survive the local conditions for ten more minutes," she said, and walked back into the stall Trip had been sleeping in. She sat down on the blanket stretched across the bed of hay and looked around. A kitten blundered out of the shadows, meowing for attention, and rubbed itself against her legs; T'Pol just stared down at it.

"Not exactly officer's quarters," Hayes commented.

"No," she said. Ignoring the persistent kitten, she reached over for Tucker's folded Enterprise uniform and drew it onto her lap.

"I didn't realize that you and the commander…"

"I don't believe that the commander and I necessarily realized either, Major." She compulsively smoothed the worn blue fabric of his uniform. "Please update Lieutenant Reed on our status and ask him to stand by with the transporter."

"Ma'am," he said, and moved away. He assumed she was referring to the _mission's _status rather than her relationship status, and reported in to Reed accordingly. He was going to enjoy correcting him about the commanders' obvious intimacy at some point soon, though.

As he concluded the conversation he glanced back and noticed that T'Pol had lifted the man's uniform up to her nose and was _smelling_ it.

She must have _really_ missed him. Hayes had already gotten a whiff of unwashed engineer and thanked his lucky stars that they were transporting up instead of taking a shuttle pod.

x x x

Trip blinked as the transporter alcove sparkled into view around him.

Had _Enterprise _always been this cramped?

Alex was operating the transporter – and grinning hugely. "Welcome home, boss!"

Trip headed towards him to give him a hug, but Phlox's voice over the speaker interrupted. "Commander Tucker, please refrain from close contact with crewmen until I have cleared all of you through decon."

"And hello to you, too, Doc," Trip said, and turned to look a little apologetically at T'Pol. He shouldn't have hugged her, obviously. "Sorry."

She merely lifted an eyebrow. "We should adjourn to decon," she said. "Crewman Rodriguez, I believe that now includes you as well."

"It'll be a little party," Trip said a little sourly, then raised his voice. "I feel fine, Phlox!"

"I'm glad to hear it, Commander," Phlox's voice came back. "And welcome home. But let me be the judge of whether you've picked up anything interesting and potentially contagious since we last saw you, hmm?"

"I wanna see my engines," Trip grumbled, but comforted himself that he wanted to see T'Pol stripped down to her undies even more, and decon might just mean that. Not that he had exactly hoped to share that experience with three MACOs and an engineering crewman.

"I would think you might be looking forward to the chance to take a shower, sir," Hayes said.

"Oh bless me, _hot running water_," he said, with reverence. He'd forgotten in all the excitement that decon was equipped with showers! Hell, _Enterprise_ could also provide him with clean underwear and socks and a fresh uniform, even a new pair of boots – and it would all be free!

He sighed happily. What, after all, was a little delay in decon?

x x x

"_Oh bless me?"_ T'Pol thought. She'd never heard Trip use that construction before. Apparently he had picked up some local mannerisms. It was clear that he had assimilated somewhat to the culture of the planet. As they prepared to leave, his hand had hovered uncertainly over a book and a carved flute of some kind. "I should probably leave those here," he'd said, but sounded rather regretful. "Are we leaving orbit right away?"

"No," T'Pol had said. "We have much to discuss."

"I'm sure I have a lot of catching up to do," Trip had said, and smiled easily at her.

T'Pol was surprised at how cheerfully he seemed to be coping with the loss of his entire planet and almost everyone he'd ever known on it.

Waiting for them at the window in decon, Phlox demanded blood samples from all of them, then let Trip go back to get his shower. This news drew expressions of relief from the other men, though T'Pol personally didn't see what they found so offensive. It was rather odd that _they_ would be so affected when she was not.

Then again, she was by now quite exquisitely aware not only that she had developed a certain preference for the engineer's person, but that his long absence had done nothing at all to weaken this. Indeed, there was nothing she would like better at the moment than to slip back into the showers and more thoroughly reacquaint herself with his person.

That would, of course, constitute a complete and utter abdication of her responsibilities, so she did nothing of the kind.

They waited for Phlox to run his tests. Hayes was already working on his report. He and his men obviously hoped to be cleared without having to go through all the usual tedious precautions. North Star was, after all, familiar territory.

Phlox returned and opened the window. "Did any of you have close contact with Commander Tucker or any of the local fauna?" he asked.

Hayes turned and looked expectantly at her.

"I had some moderately close contact with Commander Tucker," she reported stiffly.

"And a cat," Hayes reminded her.

"The _cat _merely had some minor contact with my uniform," she said. Really, Major Hayes could be rather officious at times.

Phlox said, "I see. The rest of you can go, but T'Pol, you will need to run through the standard precautions. Mr. Tucker has managed to pick up a few things that I'd just as soon didn't get the opportunity to spread any further. Fortunately, they are not particularly virulent."

The others left with a whoosh of pressurized air. T'Pol could still hear Trip's shower going. He was staying in there quite long, but that was perhaps understandable. "Doctor, you do realize that we hope to establish a base on this planet?"

"Yes, and I'll be requiring prophylactic immunizations for the entire crew," Phlox said. "It's actually rather fortunate that I have Commander Tucker to guide me in what kind of exposures to expect. For now, I've prepared a nice little cocktail for the commander against the various nasties he's picked up. As long as your blood work remains clear, all you will need is the inoculation I'm passing over. I would recommend sterilizing your clothing and getting a shower too. And try to avoid further _close _contact with Commander Tucker for the time being, hmm?"

"For how long?"

Phlox gave her one of his unnervingly large grins. "Long enough for me to examine him. I see you're glad to have him back."

She didn't say anything. Clearly, she had already said enough. She administered her hypospray to herself, set Tucker's aside, and went back to take her shower, resolutely heading to her own curtained stall instead of the engineer's.

She efficiently disposed of her uniform and soaped and shampooed and rinsed, the basic precautions. When she turned her water off, she realized that Trip was _still _in his shower. The room was billowing with steam.

Even with the accumulated grime of the planet, surely he was staying in too long?

"Trip?" she called. The tiny showers in decon were curtained for privacy but that was it.

He didn't answer.

Wrapping herself in a towel, she walked across to his shower and stood outside the curtain. "Trip!"

Still no answer.

She pulled the curtain back. Trip was leaning against the wall, under the water. His shoulders were heaving.

T'Pol stared, and quickly came to a decision. Phlox could lecture her about it later he wished. She went in, turned off the water, and pulled her mate into her arms.

* * *

><p><strong>To be continued<strong>


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimers, etc.** in Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** Thank you so much for your kind words, favoriting, etc. I guess I'll see if the site's stats are working again. (Believe me, your reviews are even more appreciated in their absence.)

* * *

><p>T'Pol was becoming just as practiced at ignoring his instructions as Captain Archer had ever been, Phlox reflected. She had confessed to resuming close contact with Commander Tucker even as he showered, so Phlox had been forced to come up with an additional dose of prophylactic medication for her, which required several extra steps thanks to her unique biology. He'd also had to shoo her away quite forcefully so he could conduct a proper examination.<p>

Still, he supposed there was no great harm done. No doubt Commander Tucker appreciated her support. And with the entire crew seemingly now intent on pairing up as quickly as possible, why should Phlox be surprised that T'Pol had succumbed to the general fever?

From an evolutionary point of view, of course, the faster the Humans started reproducing, the faster they might preserve their species from the possible extinction it now faced (assuming they weren't all doomed by current developments, but that was another matter).

But T'Pol wasn't Human, which meant her inability to control these urges might be a worrying symptom of the damage caused to her by emotional control by Trellium-D and P'anar Syndrome.

Or perhaps she was simply in love.

He could see how it could happen. These two had always danced around each other. And Tucker was a uniquely appealing sort of fellow, probably more generally well-liked than anyone else on the crew. Indeed, it was hard for Phlox not to regard him with special affection after raising his clone – even if this was a rather one-sided relationship, since the commander himself obviously remembered none of it.

Phlox sighed as the full body scan now forming on the screen over the bio-imaging chamber told its own story of Tucker's time away. When he was in good spirits, Tucker had a way of lifting everyone else's, but when he was in low spirits, he could be inconsolable. He'd looked pale and lost and his eyes were red with recent crying as he walked into sickbay at T'Pol's side. This made sense, for he would have just learned about Earth. But these scans suggested the man might be dealing with much more than that.

The chamber released its patient, who quickly sat up. "I'll live?"

"Yes, of course," Phlox said. "The hypospray you got in decon was just a precaution; your immune system appears to have been handling its exposures quite well on its own." This was perhaps not entirely true, but Phlox no point in telling the man about an incipient case of tuberculosis that would clear within hours.

"I'm not carrying anything that can kill a Vulcan, am I?"

"I doubt it, but she's been protected in any case. Now, tell me about these injuries, Commander."

"Injuries?"

Tucker was trying to sound casual, but Phlox knew better. "I see evidence of four broken ribs, a hairline fracture of the collar bone, hairline fractures in four of your fingers, a fractured toe, and two head injuries - all_ additional_ to the ones you already had." He pointed at the scan. "I also see some scar damage in one of your kidneys consistent with blunt trauma."

Tucker's face had clouded. "The toe was from a horse that stepped on me. The head thing could be from falling off a horse."

"And the rest?"

"That would be courtesy of the Illyrians."

"During your capture?"

His voice tightened. "No."

"So they were violent with you later, while you were in their custody?"

"I tried to steal their warp coil, Phlox. I'm lucky I didn't get shoved out an airlock."

"Commander, it's quite traumatizing to spend time in captivity … to lose all control over one's life. Much more so if you also suffer abuse at the hands of your captors."

Tucker just grimaced.

"A course of talk therapy is what I would normally recommend in this situation."

Tucker sighed. "I would think you'd be busy enough these days. Isn't the whole crew pretty damned traumatized by the Xindi by now?"

It was never easy to treat Mr. Tucker, was it? "I'll schedule an appointment for next week."

"No, thank you."

"I'm going to have to insist."

Tucker's face turned white. "You can't _force_ me to talk about it! I don't _want_ to talk about it. It's in the past, and there's nothing I can do about it. _Let it go._"

Phlox chewed his lip. The man's quick anger was not a particularly good sign. "Failing to deal with trauma can interfere with your work performance and cause other health issues. If you _don't _come voluntarily for treatment, I'll be forced to monitor you rather carefully."

"You go right ahead. Can I go now?"

He assented with a curt nod, and Tucker was off like a shot.

x x x

First, he stopped in his quarters after a quick trip on the turbolift (thankfully empty) and through the corridors, conscious of some startled double takes as he powered by. His quarters weren't dusty, at least; someone had recently cleaned them. He happily shaved off the last week's growth of facial hair, but even in a fresh uniform, he still didn't look right to himself in the mirror. Not quite a Starfleet officer yet. Maybe it was the hair. Hell, it was so long it was practically curly_._ It vaguely reminded him of a picture of General Custer in one of his books about Indians.

"Tucker's last stand," he said to the mirror.

What next? Sneak down to Crewman Wong for a haircut?

Or should he go to the engine room? He hadn't expected to feel shy about walking in on his crew again, but as he thought about it he realized they would have established a new hierarchy in his absence. Was Anna back on the job yet? Had T'Pol warned them he was back on board?

And what about T'Pol? She'd openly expressed her reluctance to leave his side in sickbay. He couldn't believe how welcoming she'd been. He hadn't had the nerve to kiss her yet, but she'd put up with way more close contact than he ever would have imagined, especially right in front of Hayes. Not just put up with it, either. In the shower, she'd pulled him into her arms without hesitation, as if she'd known exactly what he needed.

How the hell did that happen? Was he dreaming?

Or was she just being really, really patient and kind and supportive, skills she'd perhaps had to hone over recent months with a traumatized crew and no captain in sight?

Of course, she was also in command, wasn't she? It suddenly occurred to him that it was actually up to _her_ to tell him where to go next. He thumbed the comm. "Tucker to T'Pol," he said.

"T'Pol here."

"I'm finished with Phlox. What do you want me to do next?"

"Are you hungry?"

"Um … yeah." By now he'd have been finished with his morning rounds with the horses and sitting at the Widow Jonson's table for breakfast. He wondered what they would all think when he wasn't there this morning. Most likely, the whole town was already buzzing about where the hell Trip Tucker had disappeared to in such a hurry the night before.

"Are you ready to see everyone?"

He swallowed. Was he? He should be, shouldn't he? Suddenly he realized it wasn't just the engine room he felt shy about.

"Where are you?" she asked, without waiting for an answer.

"My quarters."

"Stay there," she said. "I'll bring you some dinner."

"Okay," he said, though as far as his stomach was concerned, it was time for breakfast, not dinner. Not that Widow Jonson's breakfasts were ever particularly light.

Oh, what did it matter? He might as well start getting acclimated to _Enterprise _again. By now, he ought to be a goddamned expert at adjusting to new settings.

x x x

Before they'd arrived at the planet, T'Pol had asked Chef to make sure pecan pie was available. He'd grumbled that they were down to the last of the pecans, but if she insisted, he would do it. She'd insisted. Now she had him put together a dinner tray for Trip while she put together a salad for herself, and then carried them both to his quarters, earning some amused looks in the corridor.

No doubt it was all over the ship by now: Commander T'Pol had hugged Commander Tucker. In public!

So be it. She fully intended to do more than that, if he wished. Her heart beat a little faster just thinking of it. But perhaps she was rushing the matter. Perhaps he needed more time to process all the changes in his life. His breakdown in the shower certainly suggested as much.

"Is he okay?" Sato had asked earlier, on the bridge.

"He appears to be in excellent health," T'Pol had reported, conscious that she was being rather legalistic. She was certain Trip would not want the others to know he had been crying.

"So when are we going to see him?" Reed had asked. Then his face darkened. "Does he know yet?"

There were so many things Trip could know or not know at this point. "He knows about Earth. I didn't wish to burden him with our other concerns yet."

Mayweather had turned around and said, "I'd let Earth sink in for awhile before you hit him with anything else."

"There is no reason to conclude that our present situation is hopeless, Ensign," T'Pol said.

Mayweather merely smiled grimly and turned back to his helm.

"He'd want to know all the facts," Reed said.

"Maybe Trip's not as in love with making his final arrangements as you are," Sato said sourly.

Reed glared at her. "Excuse me?"

T'Pol glanced between the two, puzzled. "Final arrangements?" she asked.

"It's not important," Sato said.

Reed had flushed quite red. "I'll be in the armory," he said curtly, and left.

Sato glared at the turbolift doors as they closed on him.

Had that perhaps been a lover's spat? T'Pol did not even know whether they were lovers. Perhaps it was simply an argument. She had noticed an increasing number of conflicts as the crew reacted to its new situation. She had decided that it was not her business to interfere unless the behavior rose to a level that interfered significantly with ship's discipline. In light of Earth's destruction, these survivors had the right to seek the comfort of new relationships where they could, even if the process seemed to be engendering increased levels of competition and hurt feelings.

Indeed, if they somehow survived the next few months, the most important task Humanity faced would probably be to rebuild its numbers as quickly as possible.

She was conscious that it would hardly help, genetically, if she kept a prime specimen like Commander Tucker to herself. On the other hand, men significantly outnumbered women on board ship. And if Trip was willing to have her, she didn't see that there was anything she could do about it. It had become fairly obvious to her that she was now mated to him, even if she hadn't thought that was likely when she had initiated that aspect of their relationship.

Not that at the time she'd actually thought of anything other than preventing him from mating with Amanda Cole.

She rang the chime on his door and tried to tamp down a sudden surge of anxiety.

Just because _she_ now considered them mated did not guarantee that _he_ did.

x x x

"I think I've gotten used to really salty food," Trip said, as he nonetheless cleared his plate of meatloaf and mashed potatoes. T'Pol hadn't brought along a salt shaker, of course. He hoped the pie wouldn't seem so bland.

"Excessive ingestion of sodium is linked to hypertension and premature death in Humans."

"Somehow I doubt the Widow Jonson was really interested in hearing that." Maybe _that _was what had happened to Mr. Jonson.

"Who is Widow Jonson?"

"She's the lady I've been paying for my meals, my laundry, and my weekly bath."

"A female gave you your _bath?_" T'Pol said. Her voice had risen.

"She didn't watch me _take _it," Trip said. He grinned. "Nothing to get jealous about. Though I think she probably did let me go first more often than the other guys."

"I'm not jealous."

He stuck a tongue in his cheek and remembered the last time they'd started down this road. It sure would be nice if it ended up the same way. "That's too bad. I kinda had the impression you missed me."

She regarded him warily. "I did."

"I missed you, too," Trip said. Suddenly he didn't feel playful anymore. "A lot."

"Chef informed me that we are nearly out of pecans," she said, nodding towards his pie.

"Ah," he said, wondering why she had changed the subject. She struck him as very tense. Or maybe that was him, strung up by suspense over just what was going on between them. He took a bite of pie and closed his eyes in pleasure. It was just as good as he remembered. "I missed you so much I couldn't even _begin_ to flirt with any of the women there. I never had _that _problem before."

He smiled at her, assuming she'd be pleased.

Instead, she looked stricken. "I should apologize."

He squinted at her in perplexity. "For what?"

She flushed. "With the benefit of hindsight, it was improper of me to give you neuro-pressure. Or to initiate coitus. It appears that by engaging with you in behaviors usually reserved for one's spouse on Vulcan, I inadvertently established a mate bond with you. This is most likely what caused your inability to…" She stiffened. "…_flirt_ in your accustomed manner."

He stared at her. It just figured she'd find the least romantic way possible of describing their relationship. But... "_Inadvertently?_ What the hell does that mean?"

"It means _without intending to_."

"I know what it—" He stopped and took a deep breath. "Are you saying you didn't _want_ a mate bond with me?"

"No. I'm saying it would be understandable if _you_ didn't wish to have one with me."

He shook his head. "Were you here a minute ago when I told you how much I missed you?"

"Trip, I am speaking of a _Vulcan_ mate bond."

"Uh huh...?"

"Vulcans mate for life."

"As do Humans … we hope."

"It's not a matter of_ hoping_ on Vulcan. Our marriages never end in divorce."

"Yeah, well, you probably never color outside the lines, either."

"The Vulcan pattern is lifelong monogamy. The Human pattern tends towards serial monogamy. _Our _mate bonds are biologically determined. Yours are not. Humans are free to move on from one mate to another, and frequently do."

Trip folded his arms. "Let me see if I've got this straight. You're telling me that somehow, without ever fully discussing the matter, we established a full-on Vulcan mate bond, even though I'm a Human. And that is why I couldn't flirt with any of those pretty women."

Her eyes narrowed. "If you considered them 'pretty', perhaps I am wrong."

He chuckled.

T'Pol blinked, frowning just slightly. "You should be more upset about this. You had no foreknowledge of this phenomenon. This condition has been imposed on you against your will."

"You know, I _was_ there when it happened," he said. "I didn't refuse neuro-pressure. I didn't run screaming from the room when you dropped your robe. Unless you plan on only having sex with me once every seven years, I haven't heard one thing yet that's worth getting upset about."

She stared at him. Apparently he'd really surprised her. Finally, she said, "A Vulcan woman's sex drive is determined by her mate's."

He stuffed in one more bite of pie. He figured he might need the energy. "Then maybe _you're_ wrong about this bond."

Her eyes flashed. "Why would you say that?"

"Because you still have your clothes on."

What followed surely qualified as the fastest mutual disrobing in the history of Starfleet.

**To be continued...**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimers, etc.** in Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **Okay, so you'll notice the addition of another 'ship in here. It's not one of my usual ones, but the characters insisted. (Hey, they're under a lot of stress.) No guarantees about how it will work out, though, because I'm going to leave that up to them. (TnT don't really have any choice about it in my stories, heh heh.) As always, many thanks to my reviewers. Here's also a warning that the pace of posting may slow down from here on out for various RL reasons.

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><p>Malcolm Reed was the most irritatingly dour, pessimistic, negative, self-defeating, wallowing-in-self-pity drama queen Hoshi Sato had ever met in all of her life.<p>

She couldn't believe he actually wanted to propose a plan to Commander T'Pol for initiating a warp core breach once the anomaly fields had closed in on them_. _He claimed this would allow the crew to experience "death with dignity."

He'd been quite taken aback when neither she nor Travis nor Major Hayes had been willing to lend any support to the idea.

Malcolm wanted to _luxuriate _in this tragedy, didn't he? He was being a romantic in the worst possible way – the unhealthy, consumptive Victorian way – making a fetish out of death, like all that jewelry made out of dead people's hair, the embroidered weeping willows, the picnics in cemeteries.

No one had wept harder at the memorial service they'd eventually pulled together for their friends and family on Earth. This from the same guy who'd barely communicated with a soul on the planet the whole time they were out in space!

"It's paradoxical, I'll grant you," Phlox had reproved her, when she'd complained of it. "But losing those with whom one has had a difficult relationship can sometimes generate more pain than otherwise."

"Why?" Hoshi said. "Because he's feeling guilty?"

Phlox shook a finger at her. "Now, now. I would not presume to guess. Suffice it to say his feelings may rather unresolved. He might appreciate having a friend to discuss them with. Why don't you ask him about it?"

"I can't do that."

"Why not?"

"The last time I tried to find out something about Malcolm, he thought I was trying to hit on him."

Phlox smiled. "The pineapple?"

"Yes." She scowled.

"That was _years_ ago. Surely he knows you much better now."

"No, he doesn't," Hoshi said bitterly. She'd spent three years working with Malcolm, surviving multiple life-or-death situations with him, and yet they didn't really know each other at all. Now they might have only a month left and he apparently planned to spend it more or less writing his own obituary.

"What's _really _bothering you?" Phlox asked.

"I don't know." She sighed. "I guess I'm just not ready to call it quits."

"I'm sure not even Lieutenant Reed is suggesting that. While there's life, there's hope, surely? Captain Archer may yet succeed in his mission."

She might have more faith in the captain if Earth still existed, but that grand failure tended to overshadow all of the man's successes. "How do you stay so cheerful, Phlox?"

Phlox's smile faltered slightly. "It's my job."

x x x

In her quarters after dinner, Hoshi checked her messages. Corporal Chang was once again asking her if she'd like to join him for chocolate and checkers.

Checkers were for children, didn't he know that? The chocolate sounded good, though. The real problem was Corporal Chang. He was a nice enough guy, but he wasn't really anyone she'd imagined spending her last month alive with.

Then again, it might be better to spend it with someone than no one. Probably he felt the same.

Gosh, how flattering.

Her door buzzed.

She opened it to Lieutenant Reed, freshly showered and uniformed and looking distinctly irritated.

"May I speak to you?" he asked. It sounded more like an order, really.

She stepped aside and let him in. Her heart started to pound; it was clear he was ready for a fight. So was she.

"Do we have a problem?" he said.

She pretended ignorance. "Sir?"

"_In love with making his final arrangements_?" he quoted back to her. "Was that really necessary?"

"I'm not the one who suggested we blow up the ship."

Malcolm scowled. "You'd really rather spend your last moments in chaos, with everything falling apart around you, or worse?"

"Hell yes, if the alternative is indulging in a long, sentimental goodbye and mutual suicide."

"I would have thought that _you_ of all people…," he said, then stopped.

"What, because I'm official ship's weenie?"

"No, because you're Japanese. Surely you're familiar with the tradition of _seppuku_…"

She stared at him in disbelief. "Are _you?_ What would be the point of disemboweling myself to avoid dishonor before an enemy who would never even notice I took the trouble? Not to mention I don't have anyone _left_ who would expect it – not that they would have wanted me to do something like that anyway!"

"I'm simply trying to help us all maintain some dignity in this situation."

"That's what it's all about for you, isn't it? Dignity! Decorum! Rank! And what has it all amounted to in the end? Nothing! Maybe what you're really trying to avoid is the reality that none of that means _anything_ anymore!"

He stared at her.

"_This_ is what matters," she said, gesturing between them. "Being alive! Being there for each other. Connecting with each other, while we still can. But you wouldn't know a damned thing about that, would you?" She was so angry that her chest was heaving.

He was breathing fast too. "But _you _do?"

"Excuse me?"

"I've never seen you with anyone in any serious way. Not the whole time you've been aboard. Unless you're much better at hiding these things than most people are."

She swallowed. Typical of Malcolm to try an offensive maneuver. Take the heat off himself, distract her a little. "That's none of your business."

"But _my_ lack of 'connection' is fair game?" he said icily. "Very well. I see how this works. But if you could please _attempt_ to avoid making snide remarks about me to our CO in the course of our duties, I would appreciate it." He turned to go.

Damn it. She had to be able to work with him. Nor did she want all their years of comradeship to end like this. "Malcolm, I'm sorry."

"For what?" he said curtly, still facing the door.

"I guess we're all going to react to this situation differently," she said. "You look for dignity, and I look for…" she sighed.

"What?" he said, turning around.

"I don't even know," she said, immensely frustrated.

He stepped back to her, gesturing between them the way she had before. "_Connection?_" he said sarcastically.

Stung, she started to turn away, but he put his hand on her arm and pulled her back.

And then he kissed her, hard, pushing her back against her wardrobe.

And after a moment's stunned surprise, she returned his kiss with all she had.

x x x

T'Pol lay in Trip's bunk with a dozing engineer draped possessively around her and decided that if the worst happened, she would try to remember this moment – assuming, of course, that she had time to attend to such thoughts when the worst was happening. Which was probably unlikely.

"What's the matter?" he mumbled and grasped her a little tighter.

"Our current situation is more precarious than you know," she said.

He stilled for a moment, then caressed her arm. "You're not talking about the two of us?"

"No," she said, and pulled herself up to a sitting position.

He did the same, watching her seriously.

She said, "The Expanse is transforming more quickly than expected. Unless something happens to stop the process, we estimate that we have less than a month before this area of space is overrun with anomalies."

"And the planet?"

"Will be destroyed."

He blinked, obviously digesting this new state of affairs. He ran both hands through his long, mussed hair. "There's no way in hell we can fit 7,000 people on _Enterprise_," he said. "Can we get anyone here to help evacuate them?"

He didn't understand. "Trip, we might be able to delay the inevitable by a week or two by leaving orbit, and indeed we may be forced to, but there is no safe refuge from these fields, not with the barrier growing in strength even as the anomalies grow. There can be no successful evacuation. Our only hope lies in the destruction of the sphere network."

His eyes widened. He got up abruptly and paced across the room naked. She watched half in appreciation and half in bemusement, though there was of course no logic in expecting modesty between them at this point.

"Shouldn't we be trying like hell to destroy those spheres, then?"

"Yes, if we could reach them safely. We can't."

"Unsafely, then. It's better than doing nothing."

"If we had even the slightest chance of success, I would agree. We can only hope that Captain Archer's efforts are successful."

Trip's face darkened. "Great."

She stood up, pulling the blanket up with her. It might not be logical to cover herself, but she told herself she wanted the warmth. _"Great?"_

"He hasn't exactly been on a winning streak, has he?" he said, shaking his head. "Not for Earth. Not…" He stopped.

"What?" she said, and put a hand up to his cheek. Perhaps he needed to say it.

"Not for me," he said. "The last time I followed his orders didn't work out so well for _me_."

"You're angry at him."

Trip shook his head. He swallowed hard. "I know he was just trying to make the best of a bad situation. And if we hadn't failed at it, who knows? Maybe Earth would still exist."

She just waited.

"It was still kinda hard not to feel like I got screwed." He cleared his throat. "I'm going to take a shower."

T'Pol decided there was little point in reminding him he'd just had an extremely long one just a couple of hours before. Apparently he found showers therapeutic. He shut the door behind him, and started the water. She waited, and then she dropped the blanket and went in after him. He was not crying, but he did not look happy.

"I was also angry at him," she said, and kissed him fiercely.

x x x

Shran's surgeon said, "I used the notes your Dr. Phlox provided to create a compound that should combat the effects of the field. But according to my simulations, it will be only temporarily effective. The crew would enjoy 10, perhaps 12 minutes of protection, although I fear that before that point our antennae could become brittle and break quite easily – I would recommend taking precautions to avoid damage. At approximately 13 minutes, we would begin to suffer catastrophic organ damage. I would not expect _any_ long-term survivors after 15 minutes of exposure, though it could take some time for everyone to actually die."

Silence rang in the small conference room.

"Is 12 minutes long enough to get this done?" Shran finally asked, turning to Talla. They had decided that focusing all their phased energy weapons on maximum at the very entrance of a sphere should do the job. Jon hoped they were right – he was pretty certain that wouldn't have worked for _Enterprise,_ but the _Kumari_ had far more power at its disposal.

"Maybe," she said. "We won't know for certain until we try. We can always withdraw if we have to."

"They'll know what we're up to once we've started," Jon said. "We may not get a second chance."

Shran said, "If our weapons fail, we'll have to initiate a warp core breach. Even if we withdraw and somehow manage to survive the journey home, it's only a matter of time before this species becomes a threat to our own sector of space … and Andoria."

Talla's mouth dropped open. "With all due respect, Commander - it's taken the sphere builders over a thousand years to establish the Expanse. They have no spheres at all outside of it. _Centuries _could pass before any of the empire is at risk!"

"How can you be certain of that?" Shran said. "Once they have a foothold in this dimension, it might be much easier for them to proceed – and much harder for us to stop them."

"I agree," Jon said. "This could be the tipping point. We can't afford to assume otherwise."

Talla glared at him. "_You've_ got nothing left to lose, Human. _We,_ on the other hand…."

Jon just gave her a cold stare. They had received _Enterprise's_ general warning - T'Pol's tones had sounded reassuringly measured - so he knew he still had a ship and crew to worry about out there. Beyond that, there were presumably about 7,000 Human and Skagaran lives to lose, not to mention those of every native species in the Expanse, and whatever traces of Humanity were left beyond it.

Talla said, "You said Degra told you the sphere builders appear to them. How do we defend if they attack us?"

"They're from another dimension," Archer said. "I'm honestly not sure how they'd get on board, unless we pulled them in, like we did with the one we came across. He could pass through solid objects, disrupting anything magnetic or electrical as he went. That includes people - they would pass out. The one we took aboard _did_ attempt to disrupt magnetic containment."

"So how did you stop him?"

Archer swallowed. It seemed so long ago now. "Weapons were useless. As I recall, our tactical officer reversed the polarity on our plasma coils while he was trying to disrupt magnetic containment. The feedback loop destroyed him ... of course, he was already weakened from the time spent with us. I have no idea if that would work with a healthy one."

"So we don't know if it would actually work," Talla snarled. "But I guess we could politely ask them to please attempt to disrupt our magnetic containment too, and then hope for the best."

Jon turned to Shran. "Perhaps Phlox's records on the being's biology could offer some more useful ideas."

Shran turned to his surgeon. "Look them over. See what you can come up with. But quickly. I want to get this thing done."

"And if we fail?" Talla said, turning back to Shran. "We're just one ship. Who will stop them then?"

"If we fail, that will no longer be _our _concern," Shran said easily, and stood up.

**To be continued…**


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimers, etc. **in Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** What, you thought TnT were now two happy peas in a pod with ALL their issues resolved?

As always, thank you, reviewers! (If you log in, I get to thank you personally – if you don't, please know that I really do appreciate it.)

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><p>After a shower that had gone far beyond his fantasies of what a shower with the real T'Pol could ever be, Trip couldn't imagine going back to bed, not even to cuddle with his favorite Vulcan. He was too wired.<p>

Also, his mind was reeling. How had a woman who was squeamish about sharing a fork come up with some of that stuff? Not that he objected, of course. It just required a little readjustment in his thinking. He'd always assumed he'd have to slowly coax her into trying new things.

In any case, he wasn't the least bit sleepy. "You know, if you don't mind, I'm going to go get some coffee," he told T'Pol, who had already pulled on her silk pajamas. Maybe this would also be a nice, quiet time to sneak into the engine room and check on the other love of his life.

"It's after 0100," she said. "Should you not attempt to synchronize your body to ship time?"

"I don't know," he said. "You said the captain wanted us to establish a base here. Maybe it makes more sense to synchronize _Enterprise_ to the _planet's_ time."

"Which part of the planet? We have yet to determine the ideal location for such a base."

He'd just assumed it would be close to the settlement they already knew. "The Skagarans obviously chose the site they did for some reason. You said it had a good aquifer."

"The Skagarans hoped to colonize the planet. Captain Archer merely suggested that we establish a base. It might be much easier to accomplish that without the involvement of its current inhabitants."

He stared at her. What she was saying was perfectly logical, of course, but it struck him as utterly wrongheaded. But then, perhaps he was in no position to think objectively about the issue after the last few months. "I take it the crew knows the situation we're in?"

"Yes."

"So I'm sure you agree it's best to keep them busy."

"We have been running defensive drills against a possible Xindi attack, and mapping and scanning the planet. The physical labor of establishing an actual base on the planet's surface might prove a more useful distraction, however. There has been an appreciable rise in conflict and also in minor illnesses and injuries, which Phlox attributes to high levels of stress."

"It's a lot to deal with," he said, conscious even as he said it that the threat posed by transforming space still felt extremely abstract to him. Given everything he already had to deal with, he'd just as soon it stayed that way as long as possible.

"Senior staff has been discussing the matter but I have not made a decision yet. The resources required to establish a base on the planet might be lost if we have to flee in the face of encroaching anomalies. While those resources may not prove vital in the long run, we have no way of knowing that. We also believe that sharing the reality of our current situation with the settlers might cause needless suffering and resentment."

Trip frowned. Yes, knowledge of how precarious their existence was might throw an already relatively primitive society into chaos. These Humans tended towards apocalyptic paranoia to begin with.

On the other hand, if they found out at some future date that this had been _hidden_ from them…

But there were much more immediate reasons why distrust could develop here. "Look, whatever we decide, I still need to let the Brady's know I won't be going back to my job. And Sheriff MacReady deserves to know why I've disappeared. We don't want these folks to think we just abandoned them again."

"Trip, it's quite likely we _will_ be forced to abandon them again."

She never sugar-coated anything, did she? It was one of things he respected about her. "I can think of something reasonable to explain why we're not down there yet. Anyway, it's not just that."

She lifted an eyebrow.

He chewed his lip. He was a little surprised at himself. "I want to go to church this Sunday … _their _Sunday. I guess that's tomorrow night, here."

Her expression turned wary. "I don't understand."

"Well, first of all, I need to make sure the ladies know I don't need outfitting anymore, because that's a lot of time and trouble for them. Two, I promised the preacher his own padd, and as a community leader he could prove really useful to us in the future..."

"Surely you could attend to these matters without participating in a religious ceremony?"

"Yes, but… I also just want to go. It's been a comfort, these last weeks."

Okay, he _felt_ that: a stab of pure fear. It felt somehow familiar and he realized he'd been experiencing fleeting sensations like this for awhile, even while they were light years apart. Her face was still not betraying anything more than concern, however.

Was this perhaps a Vulcan bond thing? And did this mean she could tell what _he_ was feeling? He was trying to decide whether to ask her about it, when she rather stiffly said, "I was not aware that you were religious."

"I'm not. Or I wasn't. Honestly, I don't really know what I am." Did she fear he'd been brainwashed into joining a cult? Was she jealous of _God?_ Why as he getting this strong sense of barely contained panic? He strove to sound reassuringly sane, even casual. "Come with me, if you like. It's probably as good a way to make contact with the community as any. Maybe we could also arrange for Phlox to go down and provide some medical treatment, at some point? They could really use that."

She just stared at him with wide eyes.

"Why is this scaring you?" he asked.

She didn't even bother to protest that Vulcans never got scared. "You appear to be going in a direction I can't follow. If I understand the basic tenets of Christianity, it is a rather exclusionary belief system in which faith in Jesus Christ distinguishes the elect from the damned."

"Actually, I think that depends a lot on how you interpret Christ's teachings," Trip said. "And if it ever came to that, I wouldn't leave you behind. I promise you that. I couldn't even if I wanted to, right? You're my mate, remember?"

She looked away. "I believe you just suggested leaving me behind to get some coffee."

He blinked. She didn't want him to leave even for _coffee?_ "Then I'll stay," he said, abandoning _that_ plan easily enough – it was clear she needed reassurance more than he needed coffee – but his mind was once again reeling. In all the years they'd known each other, T'Pol had never once struck him as _needy._

What was the hell was going on with her?

x x x

Travis checked in with the night shift's comm. officer. No, there was no word from his family, or about his family. He was beginning to believe there never would be. Next, he made his way back to the situation room, where he called up the most recent long-range scans. Baird would no doubt go over it all again once the meeting started, but Travis liked to have some extra time to digest bad news before he had to look cheerful and determined for the rest of the senior staff.

The anomalies were still closing in. More alarmingly, an area of fully-transformed space had begun to blossom less than two light years away.

No sign of any Xindi, at least.

He looked up as Malcolm walked in, looking polished as usual, if a bit tired. He nodded to Travis and went to his station. It was still a bit early. A few moments later, the turbolift discharged Hayes and Hoshi, chatting amiably. She smiled warmly at Travis and went over to her station to check the night's comm. logs. Rivers appeared next. He didn't bother going to the engineering station, but joined Hayes and Travis in waiting in the situation room.

"It _is _true that Commander Tucker is on board?" Rivers asked Hayes.

"Absolutely," Hayes said.

Rivers frowned. "We're all wondering why we haven't seen him yet."

"How'd he look?" Travis asked Hayes.

"Fine," Hayes said. "Though he definitely needed a haircut. And a shower."

Baird arrived, and then Reed and Sato joined them, standing on opposite sides of the table and exchanging odd, furtive looks.

Travis was instantly alert. What was up with those two now? Last he'd seen, they'd been glaring at each other.

Malcolm said, "I must say I'm a little surprised that we haven't been given as much as a glimpse of our long-lost Chief Engineer."

Hoshi said, "He's had a lot dropped on him all at once. Maybe it's just taking him some time."

"No doubt Commander T'Pol has been debriefing him," Hayes said, his face studiously blank.

They all glanced at each other. "Do you have something to share, Major?" Reed asked.

"Not at all," Hayes said.

They were all still staring at him suspiciously when the turbolift opened to discharge T'Pol and Trip, who grinned as soon as he saw them and hugged everyone except Hayes, who got clapped on the shoulder instead. Trip also waved at the rest of the bridge crew.

He did indeed look fine, as far as Travis could tell – his hair was Starfleet regulation, so apparently any shagginess had already been trimmed off. He looked a bit thin, but tanned. His smile didn't look forced, either, which was a big improvement over their early days in the Expanse.

"We've all been wondering when we'll see you back in Engineering, sir," Rivers told him.

T'Pol said, "Since Commander Tucker is going to assume the role of first officer, I've decided to leave you in command of Engineering for now, Ensign. He and Major Hayes will also be busy setting up our new base of operations on the planet."

"I am itching to drop by and say hello to my engines, though," Trip said. "So make sure everything's spic and span."

"Of course, sir," Rivers said, with a grin.

"Then we're definitely moving ahead with the base?" Travis asked. He was one of those who didn't see much point in that, not if they were just going to have to abandon it in a few weeks.

"Yes," T'Pol said, without elaboration. She turned to Baird. "Your report?" she asked. T'Pol liked reports to run in their usual order no matter _what_ was going on.

Travis shot a commiserating look at Hoshi and caught her winking at Reed.

_Winking_?

By the time Travis checked Malcolm, he had turned to regard Baird with careful attention, but his face was bright pink.

_Oh._

Travis swallowed a sigh. Sometimes it seemed like everyone on this ship was having sex except him.

x x x

After the meeting, Trip watched T'Pol settle into the command chair. He and Reed and Hayes had already set their first planning meeting for 1100. "If you don't mind, I'd like to go check in with Engineering," he told her. "And I'd also like to check in with Anna." T'Pol hadn't had much to tell him about his former second, only that she was apparently having difficulty with her recovery.

T'Pol stared at him for a moment, then nodded, but he felt her surge of anxiety as he walked away. After sleeping the night through with him, she'd seemed much calmer come morning, allowing him to depart for a haircut without undue concern. He'd decided that perhaps she'd simply been sleep deprived … at least until he'd felt her relief when he'd appeared at her door before the morning briefing.

Last he'd noticed, going off to get a haircut was not particularly dangerous. Nor could he see how she could have managed to develop any new doubts about his attachment to her in such a short time. And sure, a Human under the stresses of the last six months or so might have developed some irrational fears – he, for example, still had issues with people coming up suddenly behind him – but how could a Vulcan fall prey to something so illogical?

He allowed himself a sigh in the privacy of the turbolift. Just how much of _his _anxiety was _she_ sensing? Was it possible their bond was creating some kind of dysfunctional feedback loop?

Unfortunately, this could not simply be normal concern for the woman he loved. As her second, he needed to know that their CO wasn't too emotionally compromised to do her job. He'd wondered about that even before he was captured by the Illyrians – for she had been behaving oddly even then – but he'd been able to tell himself that was Archer's problem, not his.

That wasn't an option now.

x x x

Jon listened patiently as Shran's surgeon reported to Talla, "If your weapons are set to fire at a rotating frequency of thirty two point six teracycles, that might disrupt them. At least, Dr. Phlox's simulation suggests as much. He didn't have a chance to test it."

She said, "What about detecting them on internal sensors? Can we set up an alarm?"

The surgeon grimaced. "I'm afraid I have no recommendation for that."

Archer said, "We found it fairly easy to track our transdimensional alien by the effects on ship's systems where he passed."

She was not impressed. "Anomalies can have similar effects. Besides, you're assuming they won't attempt to disguise their presence."

"Look, you can't hope to prepare for _everything,_" Jon said. "You've got a weapons strategy, and it might even work. I think anything more than that is just wasting time. We need to move before it's too late. Or are you _trying_ to stall this thing?"

Talla all but bared her teeth at him. "_Excuse me?_"

"You don't appear to feel this should be your fight."

Her antennae shot forward aggressively and she stepped into his personal space. "If Commander Shran says it's my fight, then it's my fight."

Jon leaned towards her and growled back, "Then why don't we get it _done_?"

Andorian eyes drilled into his for a long, angry moment. "Fine," she finally said, sounding disgusted, and turned to the surgeon. "You're standing by to release the neuroleptic compound?"

"I am. But as I said, timing is critical. And as I already recommended, the crew should protect their antennae from breakage. I have distributed braces to every department."

"Yes, I saw," Talla said, and scowled. "They are going to look ridiculous!"

"If we lose our antennae," the surgeon said, canting his head at Jon, "_he's_ going to be the only one on this ship who can still walk straight."

Talla huffed. "You might as well start with me," and stood unhappily while the surgeon attached a brace to her antennae. She shook her head, obviously bothered by the sensation.

Jon grinned. "You're right, it does look ridiculous."

She glared at him and swept out of the medical bay with just a slight stumble.

Jon turned to the surgeon. "So you'll spread the word?"

The surgeon grimaced and said, "If Commander Shran authorizes it." He walked over to the comm.

Jon left, headed for the bridge. Maybe he could catch up with Talla and torment her a little more before things got too crazy.

Was it _s_mall of him to delight in watching a ship full of Andorians with finely honed superiority complexes forced to look like clowns just as they were about to risk their lives for the universe?

Oh, hell, why not? At this point, he'd take his pleasures where he could.

**To be continued…**


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimers, et al.** in chapter 1

**Author's Note:** As always, many thanks to reviewers, and also to my occasional editors. (Don't worry, I will get to doing a round of fixes eventually.)

* * *

><p>Anna Hess was an engineer with no hands.<p>

Well, more accurately, she was an engineer without her _own_ hands. She now possessed a rather ingeniously engineered set that a couple of the guys from Engineering had helped Phlox fabricate (luckily for her, seeing as the prosthetic industry on Earth had just taken a rather permanent hit). They were a good match, too, since Phlox had taken a complete scan of her body that time she took a spill off the upper deck and therefore had a lot of data to work from. They looked real to people who didn't look too closely, and they obeyed commands from her brain only slightly later than the real parts of her body did.

They were pretty much useless in terms of helping her feel her way through a delicate job by resistance or texture or fine detail, though, which really reduced her effectiveness. They couldn't feel pain, either, which she might have thought would be a blessing, except that pain, it turned out, could be useful. She now had to test the heat of the water in her shower with her elbow or her foot. Also, she'd once somehow gotten a hand stuck in her wardrobe door and left it there.

If she'd had a roommate, she could have held up her stump and said, "Hey, can you give me a hand?" And that was the other thing. She'd never realized how common _hands_ were in spoken language. People would say "on the other hand" or "I can't quite put my finger on it" or something equally innocuous and suddenly get all awkward around her. She knew she ought to find a way to defuse that, but so far she hadn't figured out how not to let it get to her.

A lot of things got to her.

Today, she was Cargo Bay Two's new hydroponics lab pricking a batch of _gai lan_ out of their flat for transplanting into individual growth packs. It was definitely a test of her hand-eye coordination - or, more accurately, her _fake-hand_-eye coordination. Fortunately, there were always more seedlings than she could use, so a snapped stem here and there just saved her from the inevitable anguish of ditching baby plants.

As the door to slid open she looked up from the seedlings and stared.

Was that really Trip Tucker smiling at her?

"What's up, Lieutenant?" he asked.

"The Chinese broccoli," she said, quickly deciding that he must be real, and stood up to accept the hug she knew was coming. She suffered his tight squeeze without complaint, holding her hands just off his back. She'd had some issues controlling the amount of force she delivered, and it wasn't as if she'd get any tactile pleasure from it anyway. "You're alive!"

"Yep. But surely you must have heard that through the grapevine already?"

"Chef hasn't stopped by for his daily pick yet. He's the one who keeps me informed." Now that she was in charge of the new hydroponics lab, Chef was suddenly her pal, though she wasn't sure how long this would last, especially if the eggplants he'd begged her to try didn't pan out.

Trip folded his arms and regarded her critically. "You look pretty good."

She smiled stiffly. People were always telling her she looked pretty good. Part of her was relieved she'd never have to go home and listen to anyone there tell her she looked pretty good.

"How are they working out?" he asked, nodding at her hands.

"I'm getting better with them," she said, holding them up. "I can't complain." Nobody would want to hear it anyway.

"So why are you in here instead of Engineering?"

She gave him a tight smile. "Plasma explosions are somewhat less common in hydroponics labs than on engineering decks."

He grimaced. "Did you try to go back?"

What did he think? "Yes, I tried. I'm still having some breathing issues, which get a lot worse when I think about panels exploding in my face." Dr. Phlox had actually diagnosed her as having panic attacks.

He bit his lip. "You know we're undermanned in there?"

How could she not know that? What did he do, come back from oblivion just to scold her? "Yes, sir. I also know that we're at risk of running out of food."

He looked around. "Well, it looks like you're doing your usual excellent job. How would you feel about supervising the building of an outpost down on the planet?"

She blinked. Supervising? That would mean working with people again. She wasn't sure how she felt about that. "Are any plasma conduits involved?"

He smiled. "Nope. I'm thinking something pretty basic, at least at first. "

She could be on a planet again. She hadn't thought that was very likely again, ever. She wondered how food crops might fare down there. "What's it like?"

"Depends on where we build," he said. "The first job will be to help pick a site."

She hesitated. The truth was, she loved this hydroponics lab. It was soothing, watching tiny little seeds transform into new life, a nostalgic sample of the rich diversity of a planet that no longer existed. It was also pleasantly quiet and secluded. "Is there really any point?" she said. "Isn't this planet just as doomed as Earth was?"

He regarded her steadily. "We don't know that."

"Commander, I'm trying my best to stay useful here."

"I know, Lieutenant," he said. "But here's the thing. I either need your help down there, or I need you in Engineering to take the place of someone I'll have to grab out of there."

But that was no choice at all! She blinked at him in dismay. Why couldn't she just be left in peace?

"I'm sorry," he added.

If she went back to Engineering, she might flip out again, right in front of everybody. "The planet, then."

x x x

Trip didn't understand. T'Pol could see that. He was alarmed by her behavior. He thought something was wrong with her.

Something _was_ wrong with her. Her mate was failing to understand just how badly she needed him! How could he seem to be so completely understanding about their bond, yet so blind to the requirements of it?

She blinked and took a long, deep breath. She focused on her candle again and tried to empty her mind. The candle flickered. Her mind leapt from one thought to another, stubbornly refusing to embrace that cool white state of detachment that she had relied on throughout her adulthood to help her order her thoughts and suppress her emotions.

Even if a full meditative state was not achievable, she could at least _reason._ She could still examine her logic. If T'Pol had learned anything in the Expanse, it was that she could get by on less than full Vulcan discipline if she had to.

So. Apply logic to the situation: Trip could not read her mind. He didn't know what she needed if she didn't tell him. He didn't know that his touch had awakened a hunger that she hadn't felt since the Trellium-D. He didn't even know about the Trellium-D. He could not know how desperately she craved him - that she needed a _steady supply_ of him. Their bond required it.

But that was absurd! What was wrong with her? Mates often managed being parted on Vulcan. They worked different jobs, sometimes light years away from each other for extended periods of time. Her own mother and father had.

Perhaps this was why mates traditionally spent the first year together? Perhaps, after that first year of luxurious contact, it was possible to be parted for periods of time without pain? T'Les had never seemed to be greatly affected by her husband's absences – at least until that last one became permanent. But T'Pol was affected if Trip so much as left the room. Waiting in the stable for him to reappear had been agonizing. Waiting for him to return to her from his tasks today was taking all her concentration, especially since they had made no formal plans to meet.

Was this due to damage from her Trellium-D addiction? Was contact with Trip somehow doing something similar to her brain chemistry? Would Phlox be able to tell her if it was? And if so, would he be able to tell her what to do about it? What if he told her she had to quit Trip the way she'd had to quit the Trellium-D?

That would be intolerable.

Logic, then: She was managing. She could cope. She had functioned all day as acting captain - perhaps not at an optimal level, but she had functioned. She'd functioned without Trip, too, before. She'd had no choice.

Where was he now? _Why _didn't Trip understand how difficult this was for her?

Logically: because he couldn't read her mind. She couldn't help thinking how much simpler this could be if he _could_, and if she could read his, even if it would mean exchanging certain uncomfortable secrets. She longed for that most intimate of connections, and the sharing of actual thoughts, not just vague sensations. With Tolaris it had been a nightmare, but with Trip? It would be a culmination. Even just a short glimpse could be enough to help her understand what drove him … to see how that brilliant, intuitive mind worked … to find out what _he_ needed. Perhaps then _she _could then supply it to him and he would no longer crave the religion he had discovered on the planet – for that was surely a worrying symptom in a man who was, despite occasional indications to the contrary, fundamentally rational.

Not that this desire of hers was rational. It was primal, as fundamental as the desire to mate with him. More than once since their reunion, she had resisted the urge to raise a hand to his head and simply _push _into his mind. But_ that_ must not happen. It would be a violation. It also risked giving him Pan'ar Syndrome. Her symptoms had been stable under Phlox's treatment regime, but the disease was still likely to limit her life span. She could never forgive herself if she harmed Trip's mind or reduced his already-too-short life span.

This assumed anyone's expected life span mattered, of course. But it was their duty to operate as if Captain Archer would accomplish his goal - right up until the moment it became an inescapable truth that he had not_._

The door buzzed. "Come," she said. She did not get up from her meditation mat. She knew who it was.

Trip looked down at her. "We need to talk, don't we?"

"Yes."

x x x

Jon stared anxiously at the spot where three blue phased energy beams had been converging on the sphere for a good forty seconds. This was the spot where it was, at least in theory, the weakest. "Nothing's happening."

"Patience, pink skin," Shran said, but he sounded edgy and looked towards Talla, who kept her eyes on her instruments. Jon noticed that their skins were beginning to crack, and looked down at his own hands, only to notice the same. The doctor had warned them this was likely, but it was quite another thing to see it actually happening.

_Enterprise_'s phase cannons would have overheated by now, but nobody on the Andorian bridge was reporting any issues yet. Jon swallowed hard on the bitter taste of their transformed environment; the surgeon's compound might be keeping them alive, but that didn't mean the experience was pleasant. By now, the braces the Andorians were wearing on their antennae had lost their comic novelty anyway. The risk to those delicate instruments was now all too real. He put a careful hand up to his own ear. Yes, it was cracking, too.

Their skin could regenerate, but if the phase cannons didn't work fast enough they might as well not work at all. "How long will it take you to initiate a warp core breach?" he asked Shran. "Shouldn't you get started?"

Shran glared at him, then walked to hang over Talla's shoulder. "Increase power."

"We're at maximum," she said. "I could try modulating the frequency."

"Do it." He grimaced. "How about a torpedo?"

Talla said, "The sphere's surface would reflect too much of that back at us. It might knock out our own shields and weapons."

Shran said, "That's not –"

Another officer interrupted. "Commander!"

On the screen, a small explosion marked a breach at last. "Excellent," Shran said. "Helm, move us in closer. Deploy _all weapons_ on the central structure."

Lights dimmed as a batch of torpedoes was added to the mix. Explosions began to rock the interior of the sphere. The ship also rocked, and the bridge crew exchanged concerned glances. The motion didn't seem directly related to what they were doing.

"We're receiving reports of intruders," the communications officer reported.

"Security knows what to do," Shran said.

"One crewman is dead, another injured. They are retreating through bulkheads!" the comm. officer reported.

"90 seconds before we start suffering permanent damage," the surgeon reported.

Jon stared anxiously at the sphere. It was clear that it was taking heavy damage. It was not clear that this was making any difference. What if they had been wrong to target Sphere 41? What if this crew was dying for nothing?

"One minute," the surgeon said.

"Quiet, please, Doctor," Shran said. "We're committed now, one way or the other." He shot a look at Jon, who grimaced back at him.

The officer manning sensors said, "Something's happening!"

On the screen, the sphere began to crumple in on itself.

"Back us off," Shran ordered, as the sphere shrank in on itself dramatically. A beam suddenly shot out from it, whizzing past them.

The transformed soup they had been working in abruptly returned to normal.

The officer at the sensor panel said, "I'm seeing a cascade of catastrophic damage to other spheres."

"It worked!" Shran said. He sounded surprised.

"Of course it did," Talla snapped.

"All transformed areas within scanner range have dissipated," the sensor officer said. On the screen, all that was left of the sphere they had destroyed was a surprisingly small cloud of charred debris.

"And the anomaly fields?" Shran demanded.

The sensor officer worked his instruments awhile longer, then said, "I can't find evidence of any within scanning range."

Jon stared at the debris, surrounded by all that normal space. They'd won.

Shran called his surgeon over. "Can we take these diabolical devices off now?"

The surgeon scanned his antennae. "Yes, they can come off. But don't scratch!" He slapped at the hand Shran had already begun to raise.

"That's better," Shran said, with a sigh, as his antennae began to move. "Good job, crew!" he said. He walked to where Jon was sitting and watching all this and somehow feeling quite blank. "I owe you," Shran said. "I'd say a good chunk of the _galaxy_ owes you."

"A little too late now," Jon said. Victory felt hollow with no Earth to benefit from it.

Shran frowned. "I wouldn't count you pink skins out yet. Set a course for the planet the Humans call North Star," he said to his helmsman. "Maximum warp!"

**To be continued…**


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimers, etc.** in Chapter 1

**Author's Note: ** And we go back to TnT for awhile. Your reviews are much appreciated. The site's stats have been MIA but seem to be functioning again today, so I figure I'll post while the posting's good.

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><p>Trip stared down at the woman he loved. All day he'd been conscious of her waiting for him, but he'd stuck to his list of tasks to do, confident that they would see each other soon enough. Perhaps he'd resisted that nagging sense of being needed elsewhere for too long, though, because she was practically vibrating with tension now.<p>

Her expression was relatively calm, with just that little tell-tale elevation of her chin. But apparently being 'mated' to a Vulcan included some very unusual perks. Ironic that it would be T'Pol, of all his girlfriends, who seemed the least mysterious in her feelings, after all those months – years, really – of wondering if there was a chance she could ever really think of him as more than a barely sentient pain in the ass.

It would be pretty depressing to find out she'd finally taken an interest in him only because she was having the Vulcan equivalent of a nervous breakdown.

He sank down next to her and took her hand. "Look, what's going on? What are you so worried about?"

Instead of answering, she took the hand he had given her and lifted it to her face, rubbing her cheek into his palm and then kissing it.

It wasn't so much romantic as animalistic, but it was enough to change his personal agenda. He removed his hand in order to replace it with his mouth, and soon was pushing her aggressively back onto her meditation mat.

There was more than one way to communicate, after all.

x x x

"Feeling better?" he asked. He sure was.

"Yes."

He kissed her and smiled reassuringly. "Okay, so where were we?"

Her face clouded. "We needed to talk."'

"Right." He stared up T'Pol's ceiling. Everything that had seemed terribly urgent before he came in suddenly seemed much less so. "Why do you get so anxious every time I leave your sight?"

Her eyes shifted away from him. "I am not certain. However, you have recently spent a number of months out of my sight. I found it highly disagreeable."

He rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb and turned on his side to face her. "Well, so did I, but I'm here now. Are we really going to need to do everything within a few feet of each other for the rest of our lives in order for you to feel comfortable?"

She stared wide-eyed at him.

Okay, that clearly hadn't been the right question. Perhaps some reassurance was in order. "Look. If that's _what it takes_, then that's okay. We'll just have to figure out how to make it work." He hoped he meant that; it was way more togetherness than he'd ever counted on with anyone. "It's going to make us less useful as command officers, though. So is there anything we can do _short of that_ to help you?"

She got up from the bunk and began to dress, a little stiffly. "Perhaps I will simply have to cope with feeling uncomfortable. Apparently _you_ are not suffering unduly."

"That's because I'm pretty sure you'll be there at the end of the day. I trust you. Don't you trust me?" He started pulling on his uniform as well.

"I trust you…" She hesitated. "…in all matters in which you truly have a choice."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"I don't trust chance."

He squinted at her. "Okay, but I still don't see the logic in doubting that I'll come back when all I'm doing is going off to get a haircut, or going to Engineering, or getting a cup of coffee."

"I understand your concern. My logic is not what it was." Now fully dressed, she walked into her bathroom.

He followed her, and watched while she combed her hair. "Why?"

She stared at him in her mirror for a moment, then turned away and walked to her window.

"It's me, isn't it?" Trip said. "I'm somehow screwing you up."

"No," she said. "It's not you. I believe I am generally _more_ capable of logic when you are with me."

"Then what's going on here … and how do we fix it?"

"It's entirely possible it can't be fixed," she said. "I haven't been in full control of my emotions since my exposure to Trellium-D…" She swallowed and hesitated, then went on. "Phlox believes it may have permanently damaged my neural pathways."

Trip frowned. He could have sworn Phlox had pronounced T'Pol fully recovered, but maybe he was remembering that wrong. And it was true that her behavior had started changing around that time, wasn't it? "Well, what helps with that other than me? Anything?"

"Meditation," she said promptly. "Sleep. Regular meals." She frowned. "But what appears to help the most is regular physical contact with you."

Just how regular did she mean? "I'm hardly going to complain about _that,_ but it's not terribly practical during a duty shift."

She blinked at him. "It need not be coitus." She held out the index and middle fingers of her hand and lifted it. "This is how Vulcan mates greet each other in public," she said, and gestured for him to try it himself.

A bit bemused, Trip lifted his hand and copied her. She pressed her two outstretched fingers to his so that their tips met. He gasped slightly at the sensation that sparked between them. "What the hell?"

"I assume that it has something to do with the mating bond," she said. "It's interesting that you experience it as well. Humans are not generally believed to have psychic abilities."

"Maybe you're really doing all the work?" he said doubtfully.

She lifted an eyebrow. "You are feeling affection and concern. What am I feeling?"

He 'listened' through his fingers. It was bizarre. "Curiosity. And anxiety and…." He grimaced. "Fear? Why?"

She dropped her hand and lowered her head. "I apologize."

He stepped forward and wrapped her up in a hug. "Don't apologize. You feel what you feel. I just wish I could help you _not _feel that."

She leaned into his chest. "You do."

He didn't feel as if they'd really made much headway in explaining where the confident T'Pol he'd known in the past had gone. Had that always been nothing but a facade? Had she been traumatized by recent events in her own unique way? It wasn't as if his own mental health was 100% at this point. Perhaps this was just her way of coping with the reality they currently faced?

His way was to just keep plugging along, doing his job. "I still need to go down there," he said, and felt her draw in an anxious breath. "Come with me. We'll do it together."

"We have yet to determine what our relationship with this population should be. Nor am I comfortable participating in an alien religious ceremony."

"You don't really have to _participate_. Think of it as reconnaissance. It's not complicated. I think there were more funky rules involved that time you had me and Cap'n Archer requesting that stone of whatchamacallit at P'Jem." He brushed his hands reassuring up and down her arms. "I do suggest a change in costume, though. This one is pretty indecent by their standards."

She stepped back. "This 'costume' helps prevent deterioration of my musculoskeletal system in a low-gravity environment."

He stared at her surprise. "Seriously?" He and Malcolm had once theorized her non-standard-issue cat suits were designed either to help her keep warm or to diabolically reduce the resistance to her authority of all the straight males on board.

"If I didn't require the extra resistance it provides I would be wearing a Starfleet uniform."

"I never knew that. Why don't you wear over the other, then?" he said.

"What would be the point?"

He smiled. Did she really not realize her effect on the average guy? "Couldn't you at least add a skirt when we go down? Like the one you wore the last time. Women just don't wear pants down there."

"I fail to see why we should accommodate ourselves to their obsolete customs now that they know who we are. In any case, if you feel you really must go, you should go without me. I will … cope."

"What was it Cap'n Archer said? That this might be the largest Human settlement left?" He held out his two fingers. With a slight frown, she raised her fingers to his. "I need to try to keep whatever credibility I have with them. _You_ need to start establishing it."

"I am not convinced that it would serve even the slightest purpose to do so."

The comm came to life with Mayweather asking for T'Pol, so T'Pol answered it. "This is T'Pol."

"You're going to want to see this, Commander."

"On my way," she said, with a glance at Trip, and hurried out. He followed.

x x x

In the turbolift he had a bit of an epiphany. "Wait a minute. Are you saying you want us to do the finger thing _in public_?"

"It's called _an ozh'esta_ and it is not done _continually_. It's merely a polite way of periodically making contact, or expressing solidarity or … affection … between mates."

"Okay, but in front of other people_? _As in the _crew_?"

The turbo-lift door opened at that point. "Perhaps we could continue this conversation later," she said, as they both went to join Travis at the situation room table. Baird was there too, in his civvies. "Commanders," he said in greeting. "According to our scans, all the spheres are gone."

Mayweather added, "And we're not reading any anomalies at all. Or any transformed space. Even the thermo-baric cloud barrier appears to be dissipating."

Trip exchanged a stunned glance with T'Pol. "The cap'n must have succeeded!"

"So it would appear," T'Pol said, examining the scans herself. "When did this happen?"

"Less than twenty minutes ago," Baird said. "Naiman asked me to come double-check because the scans had suddenly changed so dramatically."

"Any chance this is a sensor malfunction?" Trip asked.

T'Pol said, "All of our sensors would have to be creating the same error at the same time. But we should send out a probe to confirm these readings. Mr. Baird?"

Baird nodded and went to make it happen.

"This means safe passage out of the Expanse if we want it," Mayweather said.

T'Pol said, "Yes, but the captain asked us to wait here for his return."

Trip said, "It's a little worrying that we haven't had any messages from him."

T'Pol said, "The Xindi will also have safe passage throughout the Expanse now. He may fear that a message would help lead them to us."

Mayweather grimaced. "You'd think they'd get a clue who their true enemy is."

"Maybe they will," Trip said. "Is there any sign of the _Kumari _on long-range scanners?"

Mayweather said, "No. There is _no_ other ship traffic on long-range scanners, but this part of space had become fairly impassable in the last week."

"You do realize what this means," Trip said, turning to T'Pol.

She raised an eyebrow, waiting.

He said, "There's absolutely no reason now not to go down there and make contact. And we'll still be on time for church if we leave in the next half hour."

She looked at him for a long moment. Although he knew she was not pleased about it, she was apparently unable to come up with a logical objection. "Very well."

x x x

Jenner's whisper was loud enough to carry halfway across the room. "Tucker's back, and he's got someone with him."

MacReady looked up from the hymnal he was studying purely out of boredom, wondering whose compulsively neat handwriting it was in, and followed Jenner's gaze.

Tucker was back all right – and looking pretty spiffy in a new suit. The person with him was the Vulcan woman they'd met before. Thankfully she was dressed in something decent instead of that crazy long underwear she'd worn the last time.

Not that there wouldn't be plenty for folks to talk about anyway, seeing as she had those pointy ears out for everyone to see. People weren't even pretending not to stare. The noise level rose appreciably, but stayed low enough to suggest nobody was going to try to throw anyone out of the church, thank God.

Tucker had her arm tucked under his and was grinning happily at everyone even as he led the woman into a pew. She didn't look terribly enthusiastic. Then again, she never had. Archer had explained that Vulcans weren't big on emotion.

Where _was_ Archer, if the ship was back?

Still, seeing as Tucker probably could have just left and never come back, this might just be a good sign. MacReady caught Bethany's eye across the aisle and smiled hopefully at her.

She smiled back, though she looked a bit confused, too. He'd been ignoring her recently, for he'd become pessimistic about _Enterprise_'s return. It hadn't helped when Tucker had suddenly disappeared without a word of explanation.

But now?

Things might just be looking up.


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimers, etc.** in Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **Sorry the pace has slowed down. Real life is keeping me busy. Happy Easter or Good Pesach to those who observe. And, of course, many thanks to my reviewers - reviews are yummier for a fanfic author than any Easter candy!

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><p>Although Jon had acclimated to the persistent Andorian chill of the <em>Kumari,<em> after the usual unsatisfactory shower (their water never got more than tepid), he was happy to bundle up under five blankets and try to get some shut-eye. Unfortunately, sleep eluded him.

They were still on course for North Star at maximum speed, ETA less than a full Andorian day. Long-distance scans indicated a ship in orbit, presumably _Enterprise, _so he wasn't worrying too much that it was lost anymore.

At this point in the voyage he'd already had enough brooding about all the things he'd done wrong. At least the Expanse was gone too, and he could take some credit for that. His crew would have a shot at survival, as would the Humans on North Star. Even better, the Expanse no longer created a barrier to exploration and colonization.

So what now?

Back at Starfleet, they might have gathered a room full of officers and experts to try some of what they still called 'war gaming,' even though war had never been United Earth's chief aim. In any case, that was clearly no longer an option. Whether Starfleet still existed in any form was an open question, and most of those officers and experts were surely dead.

Still, the exercise could be useful. Not war gaming, then, but refugee gaming. Surviving-as-a-species gaming.

The most obvious threats first. The Xindi might still be gunning for survivors. And North Star and _Enterprise _were far closer to the Xindi than to allies on Vulcan and Andoria. Degra and some of those with him had seemed amenable to reason, and ready to delay the weapon. They had clearly failed to do so, however. Did they actually have any power? Would it be worth contacting them again? Presumably they had also noticed how the Expanse had begun to transform, and how that transformation had suddenly been stopped. There would be no more Guardians working against Humanity. Could the Xindi be persuaded that the Guardians had been the real enemies?

It was hard to believe that Reptilian bastard who'd interrogated him could ever be persuaded. If he was in charge, he would need to be defeated. But how?

This was assuming the Xindi hadn't already been destroyed by transforming space, of course.

Then there were the Klingons, also closer than their allies now and no longer barred by the Expanse. They wouldn't be thrilled to hear he still lived, but they could hardly consider Earth a threat at this point. At any rate, Duras was dead, and he didn't know of any other Klingons who were likely to go this far out of their way to avenge their honor. It wasn't as if North Star boasted huge reserves of deuterium or dilithium or anything else worth crossing all those light years for.

Clearly, Humanity might need defenders. Would their former allies help them? Shran would, if allowed, but would the Imperial Guard? And what about the Vulcans? Would the High Command see any logic in helping now, when they had done so little to help against the Xindi before?

Denobula could be counted on for medical and scientific help, but nothing more. (Unless, perhaps, one could _clone_ a species back from the brink of extinction? No, probably best not to even go there.)

Then there was the matter of dealing with any survivors. They would be traumatized. Hostile. Paranoid. Maybe even panicked. They would need all the basic necessities of life. Also reassurance, firm leadership, guidance. And perhaps, if the colony planets hadn't been too ravaged in the Xindi attacks, it would make more sense to rebuild on one of those.

Finally, the settlers on North Star would need to be brought up to speed with the rest of their species once and for all. They could not afford to ignore the 6,000 Humans there. Then again, at least some of the Humans on North Star were actually part-Skagaran. How many? Jon had no stomach for purity codes, but when a species was nearly extinct, did it make sense to allow it to mix freely with another species?

Of course, as far as they knew, the Skagarans were even more endangered than the Humans, with an even smaller gene pool to rebuild from.

No doubt there would also be some friction as the various groups mixed. The Humans of North Star had the biggest paradigm shift to handle, but other survivors would have their own issues – even more so if they came from the colonies, a self-selected group of Earth's more independent types.

Clearly, there would be more than enough work to do over the next year, or five years, or ten years, or twenty, or the next century.

Jon sighed. It was at least partly his fault Earth and her colonies were gone or devastated. It was at least partly his fault that simply exploring the universe was no longer a luxury Humanity could afford. He could hardly complain now if he was never going to be able to go back to the kind of life he'd always dreamed of.

The comm. buzzed. "Archer," he said.

Talla's voice did not have any of its customary sneer. "Our long-range sensors have just picked up a ship within a light year of _Enterprise_, closing fast. It's Xindi."

x x x

_Thro' many dangers, toils, and snares,  
>I have already come;<br>'Tis grace hath brought me safe thus far,  
>And grace will lead me home.<em>

Although the tune being sung was quite simple, T'Pol did not attempt to sing. Singing was not anything she had ever done in English before. Also, she could not bring herself to utter such illogical phrases. Furthermore, it was quite difficult to read the verses; she recognized the writing in the handwritten hymnal as English, but the representation of certain characters was obscure, requiring her to guess from context. In answer to her earlier query, Trip had explained "It's called cursive. For writing by hand. You don't see it much anymore." He pointed. "That's an _s_. That's an _r._"

She watched her mate sing in his pleasant baritone. He'd appeared to know the first verse from memory but had needed to read the rest. It was clear he took pleasure in singing, but he had always had a fondness for music. Was that perhaps the 'comfort' he had spoken of earlier in speaking of this place? Or was it the implicit offer of a magical "grace" that would resolve all a person's problems with danger and death? The readings had appeared to amplify this theme that no matter what misfortunes befell a people, God would ultimately rescue them.

_The earth shall soon dissolve like snow,  
>The sun forbear to shine;<br>But God, who call'd me here below,  
>Will be forever mine.<em>

Hymn concluded, they and the congregation sat. Perhaps the idea of God could make an agreeable stand-in for one's planet, sun, and so forth once they were lost. She was still surprised that someone as educated as Trip might find solace in the idea.

Sometimes she forgot just how alien he was.

As if he knew what she was thinking, he put two fingers out on the pew between them. She met his _ozh'esta_ with her own. He'd certainly taken to that particular Vulcan tradition quickly. Not that she minded, especially at that moment.

An older woman stood up and spoke of the need to pray for a sick friend, claiming it had worked just the week before for another ill person who was now well. This was clearly a case of what the Humans called the _post hoc _fallacy, but Trip bowed his head in prayer without hesitation.

The minister now rose and began to speak about the earlier scripture readings, making connections between them and emphasizing the beneficence of God's grace and the ultimate rewards of continued striving "even in the midst of darkness and lamentation."

That was when her communicator beeped.

Many heads turned to stare at them in curiosity. The communicator beeped again.

Fortunately, they were sitting on the aisle and near the back. T'Pol rose and quickly made her way out the door, where she had posted a MACO. She nodded to Corporal Chang and quietly said, "T'Pol here."

Reed's voice was excited. "A Xindi Reptilian frigate has just exited a vortex and is headed this way. We estimate they'll be within weapons range in slightly less than one hour."

"Have they hailed us?"

"No."

"Can they see us?"

"Yes, undoubtedly."

"Have they scanned the planet?"

"Yes, but I doubt they are close enough for any scans to penetrate the atmosphere yet."

"Can we successfully defend against them?"

"Not without a tremendous amount of luck."

"Prepare to leave orbit. I'll contact you as soon as the shuttle is airborne." She contacted Mayweather in the shuttle to get prepped for departure.

Trip appeared at the door. Perhaps he had sensed her concern through their bond. She was pleased that it would relieve her of the duty of retrieving him and disrupting their service once again.

"What's the matter?" he said.

"Xindi on an intercept course. We must return to the ship."

"What about these folks?"

T'Pol, who had already turned towards the shuttle, stopped. "What about them?"

"Shouldn't we at least warn them to take cover?"

"_Is _there cover?"

"I don't know. Kinda depends on what kind of weapons the Xindi are planning to use, doesn't it?"

"Their best hope may lie in us drawing the Xindi away from the planet as soon as possible. The longer we delay our departure, the likelier the Xindi are to conclude that we have established interests here."

"You go ahead, then," Trip said. "I can't just leave these people to their fate."

She stared at him. Go ahead? Without _him?_ "There is nothing you can do for them," she said. "We must go now, Commander. That's an _order_."

"In what fleet?" he said impatiently, and ducked back inside the church.

She watched from the doorway in shock as he walked in and pulled the Sheriff back out with him. Trip quickly told him, "There's an enemy ship bearing down on this planet. Do your people have any place they can take cover that's underground?"

MacReady blinked. "There are some caves Cooper Smith used when he was leading the resistance. Is it a Skagaran ship?"

"No, Xindi," Trip said. "Not so much into making Humans into slaves as into wiping them out." He turned to T'Pol. "How long do they have?"

"Less than an hour."

MacReady's eyes widened. "We'd have to get the word out … take provisions with us ... how long would we need to be in there?"

"I have no idea," Trip said. "I'm sure you'll hear if they start bombarding. At least get _some_ of the population safely away if you can."

MacReady looked back at the church. "Couldn't have happened at a better time in terms of letting everybody know. What about the other settlements?"

"We have no practical way of warning them," T'Pol said. "Do you?"

The man shook his head. "Not within an hour."

"We will attempt to draw the enemy away from this planet, Sheriff," T'Pol said, and looked meaningfully at Trip. "Commander?" She gave it her best command tone.

Trip looked anxiously between her and MacReady, clearly torn.

It was shocking for her to realize that this was actually a difficult decision for him. Ultimately, he scowled, and patted MacReady on the shoulder. "Good luck," he said, and turned to sprint for the shuttle they'd left just beyond the church.

T'Pol followed with Chang in the rear. Mayweather lifted off the moment they were all on board.

T'Pol notified Reed and then sat back, silently. Chang was looking everywhere but at her and Trip. Trip gave her one indecipherable, hooded look and then stared at the deck. He wasn't offering her the _ozh'esta_ now, not that she would particularly appreciate it if he did.

She sat back as the shuttle banked sharply, Mayweather clearly choosing speed over finesse. Once aboard, _Enterprise_ could retreat in the direction of the approaching _Kumari _at top speed_._ With two against one, they might stand a chance.

But if the Xindi didn't follow immediately … if they destroyed the population here first …

And Trip had just disobeyed her direct order. In front of another crewman.

Now what?

* * *

><p><em><strong>To be continued...<strong>_


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimers, etc.** in Chapter 1.

**Author's Note: **It's possible I'm letting the pace get a little too leisurely here while our couples deal with each other, but I figured you'd rather have a chapter now than wait for another week while I reconsider. Many thanks as always, reviewers. If you log in (AND allow private messages!) I will contact you individually to thank you that way, too.

* * *

><p>What was keeping them? Malcolm was never one to shrink from a fight, but <em>Enterprise <em>stood no chance at all against a fully armed Reptilian frigate. They needed to run, and they needed to run _now._

Hiding was an option they had already investigated at length in anticipation of this day. If the Xindi hadn't popped out of a vortex so close by, they might have had a chance to position themselves behind this planet's moon. There was also an asteroid belt they could hide in less than a day's top warp speed away, but even if they could get there in time – which was unlikely – it was in the opposite direction from the _Kumari,_ which was already rushing their way. Nor was _Enterprise's _hull in any condition to handle even minor impacts from interstellar rubble.

Which meant it was obviously in no condition to take weapons fire, either.

When their CO finally checked in and instructed them to set course for the _Kumari_ as soon as the shuttle was aboard, Malcolm crisply instructed the helm to stand ready. Rivers was already standing by to deliver top speed. They couldn't outrun the Xindi forever, of course, but all they really needed was the chance to meet up with the _Kumari_ and – assuming she was in any condition for battle herself – dramatically improve their odds.

"Lieutenant!" Baird said, from the science station. "Two more Xindi ships just exited a vortex. They're also on an intercept course."

The knot in his stomach tightened. "Let me see," he said, and walked over to look at Baird's scans. A small Primate vessel and a huge Aquatic one were speeding towards them as well.

"They're slowly gaining on the Reptilian vessel," Baird said. "And…"

"…they are charging their weapons," Malcolm said grimly.

"Shuttle's on board; we're underway," the helmsman reported, as the ship leapt into warp.

A couple of minutes later, T'Pol, Trip and Travis exited the turbolift. T'Pol's and Trip's old-fashioned costumes inspired a number of double takes from the bridge crew.

"How long until the Reptilian ship reaches weapons range?" T'Pol asked.

Malcolm said, "We also have a Primate and an Aquatic ship on an intercept course now. If everyone maintains their current speeds, the Reptilians will be within range in two hours, forty-seven minutes, a full nine minutes before we rendezvous with the _Kumari._ However, the other ships could potentially reach us earlier – a full fourteen minutes beforehand."

And fourteen minutes was an impossibly long time to be outgunned, but he knew he didn't need to tell her that.

T'Pol moved back to the situation room and the other senior officers followed her. Soon they were all staring down at the star chart on the table marking their various positions.

Hoshi added, "The captain told us the _Kumari _is already at maximum warp."

"You've spoken?" T'Pol said, clearly surprised.

"They'd seen the Xindi ship too," Malcolm said.

"Did the captain provide any orders?" T'Pol asked.

Malcolm said, "The Reptilians started jamming before the conversation could get very far." He met Hoshi's glance with a slight grimace. When he'd pushed her to try to counter the jamming, she'd snapped, "Don't you think I would if I could?"

T'Pol was silent for a moment, pondering the chart. Finally, she said, "I don't see any better options than our current course. Does anyone else?" She had clearly directed the question primarily at Tucker. Her tone was oddly brittle.

Trip flushed. "What if the Xindi turn towards the planet? That may be the largest Human population left in the galaxy. We can't just abandon them."

"Would we be able to protect them?" T'Pol asked Malcolm.

"We wouldn't last ten minutes," he said.

T'Pol stared at Trip until he scowled and looked down.

"This situation may not be as dire as it appears," T'Pol said. "We can't be certain all these Xindi are our enemies. The Primates and Aquatics helped secure the release of Captain Archer, and they were willing to engage in further talks about the weapon."

Trip said, "And much good it did Earth."

T'Pol turned to Hoshi. "Have they attempted to hail us?"

"With the Reptilians' jamming, we can't know that."

T'Pol said, "Very well. Stand by on weapons – particularly aft torpedoes. Please notify me immediately if you notice any changes in their course or speed. Commander, may I have a word?"

Tucker nodded unhappily and followed her into the ready room.

Malcolm watched them go. Something was up between them. He supposed it could be worse – at least they weren't challenging each other as openly as they had back in year one.

Which was a mercy. _Enterprise_ really didn't have time for that kind of thing right now. But then Trip and T'Pol were one couple who actually seemed to manage their work relationship better when they were together than when they were not.

He wished he could say the same about himself and the communications officer. She had already scooted back to her station. He walked over and pretended to look over her shoulder at something. "Are we all right, Hosh?" he murmured.

"We're fine," she said, but the words were clipped.

He nodded weakly and made his way back to his station. Honestly, trying to figure out what it would take to keep her happy was almost enough to make him look forward to this firefight.

x x x

Trip followed T'Pol into the ready room with trepidation. She was broadcasting a certain resigned bleakness that did not bode well. As soon as the door shut, she turned around and said, "Shall I resign my post, or shall you?"

Trip stared. "What?"

"I can't afford to have a first officer who disobeys a reasonable direct order."

He opened his mouth to protest, then closed it. No, of course she couldn't. Who could? Except that she really hadn't understood. "I'm sorry. I know I was out of line. But I don't honestly think that order _was _reasonable. Any Human life is especially precious now. You can't just walk away from any Humans you have the opportunity to save."

"You effectively delayed our departure, Trip, which may impact _all _our survival. And you haven't answered my question."

He blinked. "I don't understand."

"Who shall resign? I am open to discussion. Since you are Human and I am not, perhaps I should be the one to step down."

"Nobody needs to step down!"

"While you are correct to note that our situation has changed significantly, I do not believe it makes sense to try to operate the ship on a consensus decision-making model."

Was this some sort of management ploy? "I don't want either of us to resign! And yes, I know that consensus is no way to run a starship."

"Given your people's dominant governmental model, perhaps an election of some kind would be in order eventually. However, that is hardly practical at the moment. Are you prepared to take over as commanding officer? I would be willing to make the announcement right now."

"Look, just slow down!" he said, feeling a little panicked. "T'Pol, I'm sorry. I was wrong to ignore your order." He'd known that at the time, of course, but reasoned that she simply hadn't understood the stakes involved. "Look, you go ahead and do what you have to do to re-establish ship's discipline as you see it. I'll take my lumps." He shook his head, a little worried about just what she might come up with. "But no, I'm not prepared to assume command. I've either been cleaning out horse crap or sitting in a brig for the last six months. I'm not exactly operating at my peak."

She sat down heavily behind the desk. "Nor am I, as you have no doubt noticed."

"Who the hell _is_?" Trip asked. He stopped, suddenly wondering if this was T'Pol's way of putting up the white flag. She _had_ sounded pretty eager to hear whether Archer had any orders. "Are you saying you're _really_ not up to it? Do you _need _me to step up?"

She looked down at the captain's desk. "I had not assumed that would be necessary until this … dispute occurred. It appears that Starfleet's non-fraternization policies among its senior officers are there for good reason. I sincerely doubt you would have so casually ignored my order if I were Captain Archer rather than…"

"My lover?" he said, and then, at her look, added, "My mate? You may be right. I don't know. But I'll try not to let it happen again. This crew needs you, T'Pol. Please."

She regarded him tiredly.

"The captain will be here soon," Trip said. "We can let _him _sort it out. Right now we've got other fish to fry."

Both eyebrows went up at that.

He smiled and stuck out his two fingers in that _ozh-esta_ thing, which he had decided was almost as good as a hug – even better, in some ways. It appeared that he could demand a little physical contact just about anytime he wanted with it. Not just physical contact, either. When her fingers met his, he was flooded with her emotions – apprehension chief among them.

"I love you," he said. "And you're a good CO. I think the way I can be most useful right now is to see if I can help Rivers squeeze a little more out of those engines."

She gazed back at him, eyes large. "That would indeed be helpful."

He smiled and turned to go. He was at the door when she added, "While the affection is mutual, Trip, you should nonetheless consider yourself on report."

He chuckled and left.

x x x

Sheriff MacReady watched the last of the families bolt from the church. Some of the townsfolk had wanted to stay and question and argue, but others had started to slip away just as soon as they'd understood his announcement – and it was probably that exodus that had finally inspired even the stubborn ones to get moving.

The Rev. Miller said, "I guess I'd better go try to keep things calm over there. I'll just pack up some supplies first. You _are_ going, too?"

Russ was no believer – not after what had happened to his wife and child – but he had always liked the Reverend Miller. "You heard them asking what was to prevent looters from making off with all their property. I'll stay here and do my job."

"Sheriff, if you think a whole town-full of scared people holed up in caves isn't going to require someone doing your job there, you're crazy."

"And that's why all my deputies will be going. And we'll be counting on you to help folks keep it together." MacReady tipped his hat at him. "You'd better get moving, Reverend."

He walked along to Brady's stable. People were going to want their boarded horses, or to rent a horse and wagon, for although the distance was not far, at this time of year the sand vipers made it risky to cross the scrub by foot. And then, of course, there were invalids and small children and such to worry about. He hoped the people would cooperate to get everyone over there, but he wasn't overly optimistic about that.

Tom and his father were indeed under siege when he got there, as a crowd competed for the limited supply of horsepower available.

He saw Bethany watching, hands on her hips, from the edge of the mob surrounding the two men. "You got a way over?" he asked.

Bethany said, "I just want to get a horse so I can at least get over to warn the Skagarans, but I know better than to ask for that in front of all these folks."

"Oh, Bethany," he groaned. "Tucker did say it was _Humans_ those aliens didn't care for. He didn't say anything about Skagarans."

"I've been up on _Enterprise_," she said. "From that high up, I don't see how anyone could even tell the difference." She sighed. "But there's not going to be even a lame horse left, is there? You'd think Trip would have thought of the Skagarans, too. He _claims_ to consider them equals."

MacReady could have simply sent a Skagaran running over with the news, but Sunday was the day of rest, so the Skagarans employed in town would be with their own kind today. He didn't know what good it would do, anyway. He doubted the townsfolk would welcome them in their caves. "Maybe he has," he said. "For all you know, they've already gotten the message out to everyone." He knew better, but if it got Bethany to find refuge then the lie would be worth it. "Find a ride with one of your student's families and go. You can keep all the kids occupied. Who knows, maybe their parents will learn a thing or two at the same time."

"Are you going?" she said.

"Nope. I'm going to keep an eye on things here. An empty town would be too great a temptation for some folks."

"Let them be tempted, then!"

Russ was pleased to notice Garcia wading in to take charge of the crowd. He nodded his approval and turned to look down at Bethany, who was still glaring at him, both hands on her hips. "It's my job, sweetheart," he said. "You go on, now." He patted her lightly on her cheek, by far the most brazen move he'd ever made towards her. "I'd better go make sure everyone's gotten the word."

He left her blinking in confusion. She didn't look outraged at the liberty he'd taken, at least. Maybe a little dazed.

He smiled. If they survived this, maybe he'd try it again.

**To be continued…**


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimers, etc.** in Chapter One

**Author's Note: **Thought I'd celebrate Mother's Day by getting some writing done at last. I'm hopeful the pace of posting will pick up for the summer, but no promises. Many thanks as always, reviewers.

* * *

><p>Trip stepped back into Engineering. He had always loved these smells and these sounds, but it was oddly painful to be immersed in them again as the first officer instead of the chief engineer. For months he had survived captivity on the Illyrian ship and uncertainty on North Star by telling himself that someday, if he was lucky, he would be able to make <em>Enterpris<em>e_'s _engines sing again. But these engines were singing a different tune than he remembered – one with some distinctly alien notes.

He stared at the status panel as Rivers explained the modifications that had been required in order to incorporate the Andorian warp coil they were now using. He followed it with keen interest, relieved to realize that yes, he could still do this. But for every "What about…?" that Trip raised, Rivers had an entirely reasonable objection based on their new configuration. "So anything we do to try to nudge up the speed any further at this point risks a catastrophic engine failure," Trip finally concluded.

"Yes, sir," Rivers said. "I'm already pushing it as far as I dare. I'm sorry."

With some time to run simulations, Trip was sure he could find a way to prove Rivers wrong – but then, Rivers could probably do that, too – and time was not a luxury they possessed right now.

He tabbed the comm. "Tucker to T'Pol."

"T'Pol here."

"I can't give you any more speed down here. Not without serious risk of blowing up the warp drive."

"Very well, Commander. Please return to the bridge."

He sensed no disappointment or surprise. Perhaps she'd expected that outcome. He thought about suggesting he should stay down in Engineering, where they were surely undermanned, but figured he'd given her enough opposition for one day. "On my way," he said.

He felt so useless. What the hell was he supposed to do on the bridge? Stand there and be supportive? Part of him wished he had stayed behind on North Star. With a MACO's gun in his hand, he might have made some difference. Maybe not much of one, and maybe not for very long, but it would be something.

Instead, it appeared the only difference he'd been able to make was slowing their retreat just long enough to get them all killed.

x x x

Jonathan Archer had seldom felt quite this helpless, even in a universe in which he'd failed to save his planet. There on the view screen he could see three Xindi ships clearly converging on his ship, but the _Kumari_ – even at top speed – simply could not get there in time.

"You sure there's no way to break through that jamming field?" he asked. They couldn't even communicate with _Enterprise_, let alone try to contact the Aquatics and Primates.

"Quite certain," the communications officer said.

"We could try Morse code with the running lights," Jon mused aloud. "Assuming anyone's even looking back this way." They would probably be focused on the Xindi.

"Morse code?" Shran asked.

"It doesn't matter," he said. He didn't remember much beyond "SOS" and Earth had never shared her database with the Andorian Empire. He'd need to have Hoshi on _both_ ships for Morse code to work.

Hoshi. So young, so brilliant, so brave … like the rest of his crew, survivors of a terrible war and a lost world and his own innumerable mistakes. Plus he now knew that Trip had been reunited with them, and that T'Pol was apparently functioning just fine.

To be so close to a reunion and then to lose them would surely be unbearable.

x x x

Malcolm said, "The Aquatics will be within their weapon's range in less than 60 seconds." He added, as if to remind her, "Aft torpedoes are armed and ready to launch."

"Hold your fire," T'Pol said. "I am not convinced the Aquatics are our enemy."

"Can we afford to wait to find out?" Trip asked. He was standing next to the captain's chair. Playing devil's advocate appeared to be the most useful thing he could do.

T'Pol said, "It's a risk, but given our respective armaments, it is not a risk that will ultimately change the outcome of any engagement. However, initiating hostilities where none exist clearly _could_."

"The _Kumari_ will rendezvous with us in fifteen minutes," Reed said. "We just have to last that long. Disabling at least some of their weapons could buy us time."

"What is the likelihood that our first salvo would disable enough weaponry to prevent our destruction in less than fourteen minutes?" T'Pol asked.

Malcolm scowled. "Miniscule."

T'Pol said, "If we are fired upon, you may fire at will." She sat at calm attention, her eyes trained on the Aquatic vessel that was growing in the view screen. If Trip hadn't felt her apprehension thrumming like a vibrating guitar string through their bond, he would have been quite impressed at her élan.

_So this is what it's going to be like if we continue to serve together_, he thought. _We won't be able to fool each other anymore. _How much of the smooth operation of a starship depended on everyone maintaining a facade of calm resolve?

She looked at him inquiringly and he rubbed his nose with the two fingers of an _ozh'esta_. If they couldn't hide their anxiety from each other, they would just have to work together to disguise it from the rest of the crew. He saw that she understood his gesture and felt the amused warmth that it generated, at least until Malcolm looked up from his panel. "They just fired at the Reptilians."

Trip was fairly sure it wasn't _just _him and T'Pol feeling a sudden surge of hope. He asked, "Did they do any damage?"

"Nothing significant," Malcolm said. "It appears to have been a warning shot."

The bridge rocked slightly as a pale lance of energy impacted _Enterprise._ "That was from the Reptilian ship," Malcolm reported. "No damage. Either they were aiming for the Aquatics and missed, or they were aiming for us but are too far away."

"Maybe this isn't such a good spot to be in even if they're just going to be fighting each _other_," Trip said.

"Can our torpedoes distinguish the Reptilian ship from the others?" T'Pol asked.

"I can't guarantee it," Malcolm said. "And I can't control them remotely as long as that jamming field is in place."

"You know what?" Trip said, suddenly energized. "It takes _time_ for engines to blow up. Tucker to Engineering." When Rivers responded, he said, "Give us _anything _you can to get us out of her, even if it's only for a few seconds." He turned to T'Pol. "Maybe all we need to buy is an extra minute or two."

The deck vibrated as the ship accelerated. But the ship felt sound. So did the warp field.

"Warp five … point two," Travis said. "Five point three."

Trip nodded. "Status?" he called over to the engineering station.

"Plasma pressure is rising," Ensign Masaro said. "Eighteen millibars… twenty... twenty-two..." The vibration grew.

Mayweather reported, "The Aquatics have accelerated to warp six," he said. "As have the Primates. The Reptilians are falling behind."

"Warp _six?_" Hoshi said, expressing the surprise Trip assumed they were all feeling. If they'd had that much speed at their disposal before, why the hell hadn't they used it?

"Twenty-six …" Masaro continued.

"Tucker to Engineering. Take it back down, Rivers."

Rivers' prompt "Yes, sir" sounded quite relieved.

Demoralized, Trip traded a glance with T'Pol. There was clearly little point in risking hull integrity or engines any further.

On the screen the Aquatic ship opened a giant maw that quickly grew to enormous proportions on the screen.

"Are they trying to _swallow_ us?" Trip said, horrified.

Malcolm looked at T'Pol. "Launch torpedoes?"

"Hold your fire," T'Pol said.

"We'll be at their mercy in there," Trip said. "Like Jonah and the whale."

"We are already at their mercy," she said. "From inside, we may be better able to communicate. This may also constitute a significant tactical vulnerability for them_._"

"We don't know that," Malcolm said. "They might have tractor beams, dampening fields…"

"Their actions thus far do not indicate hostile intent," T'Pol said. She looked at Trip, and he realized that she was waiting for him to disagree – or not.

But he didn't want to throw torpedoes down the gullet of a ship that appeared to be protecting them from the Reptilians any more than she did. "Notify the MACO's of possible boarding?" he said.

She inclined her head in assent and he signaled Hoshi to do so.

"These are _Aquatics_," Malcolm said. "Maybe we need to worry less about being boarded and more about being drowned."

x x x

"What the hell?" Jon said. He watched the view screen in horrified fascination as the Aquatic ship slowly swallowed his ship.

The Aquatic ship then turned about and stopped directly in the path of the fast-approaching Reptilian ship, which raked it with fire as it passed. The Primate ship pursued, firing on the Reptilian ship, which returned fire. As it came around again, the Aquatics unloaded on it.

A fierce, short battle ended with the Reptilian ship drifting in space.

"So what just happened?" Shran asked him.

Jon shook his head. Did he dare hope that the Primates and Aquatics were on their side? Of course, that hadn't exactly worked out for Earth the last time… and now they had his ship.

The communications officer turned. "We're being hailed."

On the screen, Degra appeared, scowling. "Shran, isn't it? Somehow I doubt you truly represent the Andorian Mining Consortium."

"Andorian Imperial Guard, actually," Shran said. "I believe you know Captain Archer?"

Degra nodded. "Captain. You have a habit of appearing in unexpected places."

"What are the Aquatics doing with my ship?" Jon demanded.

"Your ship and crew are safe," Degra said. "Shall we talk?"

x x x

It was odd, Russ thought, how when emptied of people, the town somehow seemed to hold more potential violence than it did on a Saturday night after the men had drunk up what was left of their week's wages.

As he walked down the empty main street, shutters creaked in a dry wind, and his footsteps echoed.

He shook his head. He was being ridiculous. The only thing he really had to fear here was tripping over a disoriented sand viper.

Or running into killer aliens.

It had taken some cajoling and some strong-arming by him and his deputies, but ultimately nobody who wanted to leave had been left behind. Behind closed doors, he knew there were a few stubborn folks who'd refused to be dislodged: Jenner had loudly promised to spend the day next to his safe with a rifle across his lap, though Russ wasn't certain that hadn't been a bit of preventive bluster. He figured it at least it relieved him of any moral requirement to check on the shop: he didn't fancy getting shot by a paranoid shop owner.

Old Widow Whitlock had refused to leave her bed, and Widow Jonson had decided to stay with her. "You couldn't pay me to go in those caves," she said. "I'll take care of the old girl. If those aliens really want to wipe us out, I doubt hiding in a cave is going to make much difference. I have to assume they can follow wagon tracks as well as anyone else."

She had a point there. But there had been no sign of aliens at all.

At least Bethany had finally left for safety. Or he assumed she had. There was no sign of her now.

So when should he let the people come back? In the morning? In two days? Three? He hoped they'd get an all-clear from _Enterprise._ Then again, if the ship didn't make it for whatever reason, they might never hear.

He walked down Main Street, checking doors to make sure they were locked. Yep, yep, yep. First he did one side and then the other.

The day was hot, and it was thirsty work. He considered dipping into the barber's stash of Skagaran whisky, but figured that probably wasn't a good idea. It wouldn't really help with his thirst, anyway, even if his nerves might benefit.

Instead he headed to the well and pumped the bucket full of cold water. He drank a delicious ladle full and poured another ladle over his head. Ah, that felt good.

He heard a metallic click behind him. "Move and I'll blow your head off," Bennings's voice said.

Russ didn't move. He knew better than anyone that his former deputy wouldn't hesitate to take another man's life. He really should have hanged the man when he'd had the chance.

"Slowly now: Put your hands up where I can see them."

Russ followed directions, and soon felt his gun being lifted out of its holster.

"Now… move." Bennings prodded him in the back. "Nice and slow."

Russ moved, nice and slow. "What the hell are you playing at, Bennings? Don't you think you ought to be a little more concerned about those aliens than me?"

"The only aliens I'm worried about are the ones you coddle with free schooling and talk of rights. The way I see it, I'm dramatically improving my election chances next time. We need a sheriff who's not afraid to protect our way of life."

"My deputies aren't stupid, Bennings. They'll figure out you did it, and they'll hang you for it."

"I guess we'll see," Bennings said. "Or at least I will. Keep moving."

They were headed back behind the empty stable. The only buildings back here were the blacksmith's shop and Gunderson's saw mill, which bordered the only creek in town and occasionally even managed to use their water wheel to run the saw – but not at this time of year, when the flow reduced to a trickle.

This far behind Main Street, there was no chance anyone would look out a window and spy what was going on. Even if Jenner or Jonson did, what could he or she do? Russ stopped walking. Why should he cooperate in his own murder?

Bennings moved the gun to his neck. "I said _move, _or I'll just go ahead and drop you right now. It really doesn't make that much difference to me."

Russ felt his legs start moving as if of their own volition. "You'll be the only man in town without an alibi."

"What was it you taught me?" Bennings said. "You can't hang a man on circumstantial evidence alone? Besides, for all they know, maybe you just disappeared. Maybe you went off into space with your pal Tucker." His voice hardened as they walked into the yard behind the saw mill. There was the usual gigantic pile of saw dust there, and Bennings walked him right up to it. "Down on your knees."

"You don't have to do this," Russ said. He remained standing. From this position it might still be possible to try to knock the gun from Bennings' hands. The man was standing close enough … of course, he'd probably end up shot anyway, but maybe it wouldn't be a _good_ shot...

"I may not _have_ to do it, but I'm sure looking forward to it," Bennings said. "I said get down on your knees." He jabbed the gun between Russ's shoulder blades and chuckled. "You're a churchgoing man, aren't ya, Sheriff? Time to pray."

Russ sank to his knees despite his full intention not to. Dying from a good shot was probably easier than dying from a bad shot. Where was Tucker with his fancy futuristic medicine when you needed him? Hell, he'd even settle for some killer aliens. At least they could take Bennings out with him before he could do any more harm … oh God. What about Bethany? What might Bennings do to Bethany? He began to pray, quite incoherently, knowing that he was a hypocrite, a nonbeliever who simply didn't want to die. _Please God please God please God…_

_**To be continued…**_


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimers, etc. **in Chapter One.

**Author's Note:** I guess my pace hasn't picked up all that much, has it? Thanks as always, reviewers. Thank you also to all our U.S. service men and women and their families on this Memorial Day. I doubt the rest of us can ever fully appreciate your sacrifices.

* * *

><p>Russell MacReady was staring at a pile of sawdust and figuring it was the last thing he'd see when he heard a familiar voice scream, "Just WHAT do you think you're doing?"<p>

Bethany stood not ten paces away at the edge of the yard, hands on her hips, as if Bennings was an errant student she could send slinking away in shame. Skrim, a Skagaran who did most of the menial work for Gunderson, stood next to her.

Bethany had no weapon. Skrim had a shovel.

Bennings chuckled. "This must be my lucky day," he said, and shifted his gun towards the newcomers.

Russ took advantage of his moment of inattention to twist back and launch himself into a desperate lunge at Bennings' legs.

As he made contact, a loud blast exploded practically in his ear. Dreadful ringing accompanied their grappling, until Russ managed to stab his knee into the middle of Benning's outstretched arm and the man's gun fell out of his suddenly nerveless fingers. Russ pounded his fist into Bennings' face, then again, and again.

He had raised his fist again when he realized someone was shaking his shoulder insistently. He looked up. Bethany was shaking her head at him. Her mouth moved, but he couldn't hear anything over the ringing in his ears.

Suddenly he noticed the circle of red blossoming on her dress near her collarbone.

"You were hit!" he said – barely able to hear even his own words over the infernal ringing – and jumped to his feet. Goddamn Bennings always had been a crack shot.

Bethany stared down in apparent surprise at her dress. She put a hand to the wound, which came away bloody.

"I don't think it's too bad," Russ said, checking her out just as soon as he made sure he'd fully disarmed the unconscious Bennings. She had an exit wound on the back which was bleeding, too, but he'd seen worse. Hell, he'd seen HER shot worse – but _Enterprise_ had been conveniently at hand that time, ready to work their miracles. He took out his bandana and his handkerchief and had her apply pressure to the front while he got the back. "Not too bad. We'll get Widow Jonson to fix you up." Maybe he'd go drag the doctor out of the caves and bring him back to town, too.

Bethany asked him something he couldn't hear.

"You're going to have to speak up," he said, pointing at his ear.

"… aliens?" she yelled in his ear.

"No sign of them." At this point they really were the least of his concerns. He looked over at Skrim, who was standing and staring at them both.

"You see this man?" Russ said, pointing down at Bennings, who had not moved. He was all but unrecognizable now, his face a bloody pulp.

Skrim nodded.

"Do what you want with him," Russ said.

Skrim took a step back in alarm. Bethany shook her head. "Don't you do that to him!" she yelled in his ear, quite loud enough for him to make out. "That's _your_ job!"

Russ stared balefully at her. He considered just going ahead and shooting the man where he lay, but decided that might be hard to explain after the fact and would probably also offend Bethany's delicate sensibilities in such matters. "Then I'll deal with him later. Right now we've got to get you taken care of. This way." He pointed towards Main Street.

Bethany took a step, paled, and swayed on her feet. Russ scooped her up as she fainted.

He turned to Skrim and nodded down at Bennings. "I meant what I said before. Do whatever you want with him, just so long as he doesn't go free. Hell, for all I know, he's already dead."

The Skagaran swallowed and nodded. He was one of those who'd made a life for himself in town by keeping his head down, but it was a fair bet he'd come in for his share of harassment from Bennings and his cronies.

Russ turned and headed for Widow Whitlock's apartment.

If Bennings was still there when he went back, Russ would drag his sorry ass to jail and charge him with attempted murder.

But he was hoping he wouldn't be.

x x x

The air lock opened at last. As Jon stepped back into the corridor of his own ship he felt _Enterprise's_ warm and relatively humid atmosphere embrace him like the water in his favorite swimming pool from water polo days. Apparently he hadn't acclimated to the _Kumari_ quite as thoroughly as he thought he had.

"Captain," T'Pol said in greeting.

"Commander," he said with a smile, relaxing a notch further because she did not look even the slightest bit like one of those crazed Vulcans on the _Seleya_. His smile widened to a broad grin at the sight of his long lost chief engineer. He stepped forward and gave him a fierce hug. "I can't tell you how glad I am to see you again, Trip."

"That's mutual, sir," Trip said, hugging him back.

The hug seemed genuine but the wording had been just a bit formal, Jon thought, and leaned back to take a quick second look. But if Trip had any issues with the man who'd left him behind, he wasn't letting them show.

Jon smiled at the MACO's, greeting them each by name, and watched with private amusement as they nodded uncomfortably in response – apparently Hayes had maintained the same level of tight-assed military discipline as ever.

Either that or they were thinking of their own losses under his command.

That was a thought which could quickly sober a man. "Report?" he said to T'Pol.

"Except for additional repairs performed in your absence, our status is much as it was when you left," T'Pol said. "That is, except for being involuntarily moored inside a Xindi Aquatic vessel."

"You suffered no additional casualties while I was gone?"

"None."

"That's great," Jon said, and swallowed over a lump in his throat. There had already been more than enough.

"Can you tell us what the hell we're doing in the belly of this beast?" Trip asked.

"Our queries thus far have only generated requests to stand by," T'Pol added.

"They say they just wanted to protect us from the Reptilians." Jon hoped it was true. It surely boded well that by now they could have easily destroyed _Enterprise _or her crew, and hadn't. According to Degra, the Aquatics never made decisions quickly, not even simple ones like spitting a ship out once the coast was clear. "If it makes you feel any better," he told them, "We have the _Kumari _out there, and a Vulcan ship is supposed to rendezvous with us in two days."

T'Pol said, "That could potentially complicate our situation, given the tensions between Andoria and Vulcan."

"Yes, but we'll hope not." Jon sighed. "I'd like you to gather senior staff for a meeting in the situation room for a meeting in ten minutes. I have someone I need to say hello to first."

Trip smiled. "Phlox put Porthos back in your quarters just a few minutes ago."

Jon grinned. "Perfect." Even out here in the corridor, he thought he could smell just a hint of warm beagle.

x x x

No sooner had the captain entered the bridge than Mr. Baird reported the Aquatics were beginning to open the great mouth of their ship.

"I guess the reunion will have to wait," Archer said, with a rueful smile at his assembled senior staff. He asked Ensign Mayweather to navigate them out and sat down in the captain's chair, where he patted each arm the way he often did after an extended absence.

T'Pol had long ago realized that Humans often maintained a strange degree of affection for familiar inanimate objects.

He said, "Maintain position once we are at a safe distance, Travis."

"Aye, Captain," Mayweather said, and grinned. Indeed, most of the bridge crew had smiles on their faces.

Trip, however, had an expression as blank as any Vulcan's as he stood next to her. They'd already had their reunion with the captain, so it made sense that he was not all smiles like the rest of the bridge crew, but she sensed more disquiet from him than she would have expected.

And when Archer directed Sato to hail Shran and then Degra and invited each to dinner that evening to discuss next steps, Trip outright scowled.

She raised an inquiring eyebrow. Surely it made sense for Archer to pursue such negotiations?

He raised his eyebrows back at her and walked back to the situation room. She followed and watched him adjust the table display to include North Star.

Ah. He was concerned about his friends on the planet. "It is unlikely there was any attack on the planet in the short time we were in the Aquatic ship," she noted.

"Doesn't mean we shouldn't be getting back," Trip said. "Those people may still be huddling in caves." He sighed. "And yes, I _know_ it's my fault they're there in the first place."

"While that may be uncomfortable, it is unlikely to be life-threatening."

"I would hope not. But it doesn't help us maintain any credibility with them if I sent them off on such an unpleasant experience for nothing."

x x x

When the aborted meeting resumed again a few minutes later, the captain updated them on his discussions with Degra thus far.

"Did he say anything about _Earth?_" Reed asked.

Jon grimaced. "Apparently the Reptilians and Insectoids tortured the Arboreal representative into giving them the launch code they needed. After Earth was destroyed, Dolim announced that the Guardians had agreed the Reptilians should take over leadership of the Xindi as a reward for their initiative, but the Guardians never showed up to support that claim. This quickly led the rest of the Xindi to unite against them and defeat them. The ship that attacked you is apparently a rogue; Degra says that some of the Reptilians, in defeat, have latched onto the idea that they disappointed the Guardians by not killing _all_ of the Humans."

"Lovely," Sato said.

"That's what Degra is _telling _you, anyway," Trip said. "What if it's a set-up? Maybe they're trying to trick us into revealing the location of the rest of us."

Archer gave him a slightly surprised look. "I suppose that's possible, but I trust him. Besides, they could have easily destroyed _Enterprise_, or attempted to interrogate our crew. They didn't."

Reed said, "I concur. So what happens next?"

"The Xindi would like to make reparations to the extent they can. They have also suffered some losses in the transformation of space – it turns out the Arboreal colony where the kemocite was mined was lost." Archer shook his head sadly. "They helped us out a lot there, and that was a really lovely planet, too." He smiled grimly and raised his voice to signal a change of subject. "So … tell me about North Star."

T'Pol briefed the captain on the situation back on the planet, adding, "Commander Tucker feels our return should be undertaken with some urgency."

Archer nodded. "If I could split _Enterprise_ in two, I'd agree. Unfortunately, a shuttle pod would take far too long to get there, and we have talks to hold here. Also, the Vulcans are expecting to rendezvous with us here."

"If you really think we can trust these Xindi, why don't we rendezvous _there?_" Trip said. "If there are still rogue Reptilians out hunting, the Humans there would be sitting ducks."

Archer blinked, possibly more at Tucker's impatient tone than his argument. "I'll bring the matter up for discussion at dinner. For now, I'd like to see T'Pol and Trip in my ready room. Everyone else – I'll catch up with you just as soon as I can." He smiled at each crewmember around the table. "It's good to be home. Dismissed."

In the ready room, Archer put a hand up to one of the beams in his ceiling as if to remind himself to duck, and sat down in his chair. T'Pol remained standing. Trip folded his arms and remained standing, too.

"Have you not made _any_ progress establishing a base camp on North Star yet?" Archer asked.

"We are still assessing locations," T'Pol said. "Since Commander Tucker is more familiar with the planet than we are, I recently put him in charge of the operation."

"The decision really comes down to how much we want to interact with the Humans and Skagarans who are already there," Trip said. "Personally…" – he glanced uncomfortably at T'Pol – "…I would consider it ideal to have as much interaction as possible, especially if we want to bring them up to speed with the rest of us."

"Do they know about Earth yet?" Archer asked.

"Not yet," T'Pol said. "I would assume that our next steps depend on just where Humanity hopes to rebuild. There may be better locations than this planet."

"I doubt that we'll find a more habitable planet anytime soon," Archer said. "One of the reasons we're getting Vulcan visitors so quickly is that there is quite a bit of pressure to find a new home for their Human refugees. Apparently they are considered a disruption."

Trip snorted. "Probably touching their food with their hands."

"What about the colony worlds?" T'Pol asked.

Archer frowned. "I'm told they won't be habitable for at least a few generations, with the exception of Mars, which offers a more hostile environment than this."

"So just how many Humans are left, anyway?" Trip asked.

"It's hard to tell. But between Vulcan, Rigel, Tellar, Andoria and a few other locations we know about, we're estimating about fifteen thousand in addition to us and the folks on North Star. Not all of them will want to come out here – some are where they are by preference – but hopefully enough of them will that we can eventually establish a viable population base. You'll be happy to hear that Admiral Forrest was on his way to Vulcan when Earth was attacked. He's coming out with the Vulcans."

"That's good news," Trip said, but then frowned. "Has there been any discussion of what Starfleet actually is, going forward?"

Archer's eyes narrowed. "No."

"Okay," Trip said, but it was clear he felt more discussion was due.

Archer pursed his lips, and turned down to a padd that had been waiting for him. "Looking over the most recent captain's log, I can't help but notice that you're on report, Commander. Care to fill me in?"

"I disobeyed an order from my commanding officer," Trip said.

"Meaning T'Pol?" Archer said.

"Yes," Trip agreed.

Archer glanced at her before returning his gaze to Trip. "From what I see here, you've only been back on active duty a couple of days. Are you sure you're ready? Or does this reflect your concern about the current status of Starfleet?"

Trip said, "I already told T'Pol that I'll try not to let it happen again."

"Commander Tucker was justifiably concerned that we warn the residents of North Star about the Xindi threat," T'Pol said. "Given a larger window of time in which to safeguard our crew, I would have concurred with him."

"I see." Archer gave them each a searching look. "Do I need to worry about how you two are getting along?"

Trip got look on his face that was suggestive of some private amusement. "That depends on what would worry you."

T'Pol hurried to explain. "The commander and I recently learned that we had developed a mate bond."

Archer went completely still. "Excuse me?"

"We're a couple," Trip said, and then when nothing but silence greeted his announcement, added, with some awkwardness, "It's kind of a … Vulcan thing."

The captain looked from one to the other of them and finally settled on looking at her with obvious concern. "I don't know what to say."

"_Congratulations _would be nice," Trip said.

"Congratulations," Archer said. "So you _wanted_ this?"

"Well, _duh,_" Trip said, with somewhat less eloquence than T'Pol might have wished in this circumstance.

"A bond does not form where there is no desire," she said.

Archer nodded as if he were still processing uncomfortable news. "Okay. Well… thanks for letting me know. I imagine you're hardly the only new couple on board."

"There has been rather widespread mating activity," T'Pol said. "Fortunately, it has not thus far had too deleterious an impact on the crew's performance."

Archer smiled. "Good. Trip, if you don't mind, I need to have a private conversation with T'Pol."

Trip _did _mind – that much was clear through the bond – but he merely said, "Sure, Jon," and left.

Archer watched him go. "I don't think he's called me _Jon_ since the day he joined this command."

She said nothing, for she had nothing useful to offer.

"Sit down, Commander," Archer said briskly, so she did. He stared at her for a long moment. "Tell me about the Trellium-D."

**To be continued…**


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimers, etc.** in Chapter One.

**Author's Note:** Language warning with this one. Thanks so much, reviewers!

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><p>T'Pol had not trained as an intelligence officer or lived as a Vulcan for as many years as she had to be easily rattled by a sudden question, but her emotional control was not what it once had been. Still, she hoped she had succeeded in hiding any purely visceral reaction to the captain's question. "What is it you wish to know?"<p>

Archer's face hardened, as it generally did whenever a subordinate tried to avoid a direct response. "Perhaps you can explain to me how quantities of Trellium-D ore came to be pilfered from their secure containers on _Enterprise_… and why your DNA was found in them."

He knew rather more than she had hoped, then. "I ran some experiments with the ore," she said.

"Without my authorization? What kind of experiments?"

The door buzzed. Archer scowled and said "Excuse me," but before he could respond to the signal, the door slid open. Trip stepped in, bristling.

Archer stood up, probably expecting an emergency of some kind. "Trip?"

Tucker blinked, apparently taken aback by what he saw – or didn't see. "She was feeling threatened…" His face clouded. "Still is. What the hell is going on here?" It was unclear whether the question was more for her or the captain.

That was when T'Pol realized that this situation had moved beyond any hope of her control. It would take an outright lie of some kind to prevent sharing the truth now. She strove to keep her voice even. "Captain Archer made an inquiry that I found discomforting."

"Discomforting _how?_" he said, almost growling.

Archer was looking at Trip as if his old friend had suddenly become a dangerous unknown. Which, perhaps, he had.

She looked down at the deck, then met his gaze as forthrightly as she could. "Discomforting in that answering it will expose a very poor judgment I made."

Trip stared back at her. "Then I need to hear this, too."

Archer sank back down into his seat and folded his arms. "Normally I'd throw you out for interrupting a private meeting, Trip. But…" He sighed, then grimaced in puzzlement. "How'd you know she was feeling threatened?"

Trip barely looked at him. "It's a Vulcan thing." He took a step closer to her. "You can't tell him and not tell _me._ Not if you _want _me as your mate_._"

T'Pol felt an even stronger stab of fear than she had earlier in reaction to the captain's question. "You may no longer wish to be my mate after you hear it."

"Let me be the judge of that," he said roughly, though his words were harsher than his tone.

T'Pol resigned herself to watching this play out. Losing her rank and position hardly mattered, for Starfleet's continued existence was perhaps most kindly viewed as a kind of shared delusion. But if she were to lose Trip over this…

She closed her eyes and began: "As the effects of my Trellium-D exposure on the _Seleya _wore off, I began to crave the sensations it had allowed me to experience. Therefore, I began to experiment with controlled doses of the substance." _Experiment _made it sound almost rational, though in truth those early exposures had been desperate and clumsy.

Or perhaps all of them had been.

"Trellium-D is a dangerous neuro-toxin for Vulcans," Archer said. "And you _knew _that."

"I hoped that in smaller, controlled doses it would be less damaging. Obviously, I indulged in a certain degree of self-delusion. With the benefit of hindsight I can see that I quickly became addicted, or perhaps always was. However, I didn't realize how thoroughly it was beyond my control until my supply was cut off at Azati Prime. I sought help from Dr. Phlox then. I have been clear of the substance ever since."

"Phlox _knew?_" Archer looked stunned.

"It was a confidential health matter," T'Pol said.

"Not when the crew's safety is at stake!"

"I don't believe they were ever at greater risk than they already were in the Expanse, Captain," she said, and looked over at Trip. He didn't offer anything to support her. He looked the way he often did when he was deep in some mental calculation; it had often surprised her to realize just how analytical he could be when he was processing new information. "I was not _incapacitated_. I was merely … reacting more emotionally to circumstances than was typical of me. I believe I was still functioning as well in the role as a Human crewman under similar stresses would have." She stole another look at her mate; this time he was frowning.

He didn't believe her. And perhaps he was right not to.

Archer glared at her. "It was extremely irresponsible behavior, T'Pol."

"Agreed," she said.

He shook his head. "I don't have the time or resources to deal with a disciplinary referral for something like this right now. What I need to know is whether I can count on you to be soberly engaged in your duties going forward."

Trip's eyes flickered, but he said nothing.

"My … emotional control has been somewhat degraded, Captain," she said. "However, I believe I am still functioning effectively."

"Do you agree with that assessment?" Archer asked Trip.

Trip looked taken aback to be consulted. He frowned. "She seems to have kept things together pretty well, at least in regards to ship's business. But I'm not sure I'm really a good judge at this point."

Archer zeroed in on her again. "What about the P'anar Syndrome?"

Trip's chin rose sharply. "The _what?_"

"My symptoms remain well-controlled," T'Pol said. She turned to Trip, who was staring at her with a whole new level of outraged intensity. "I did not wish to burden you with distressing information you could do nothing about."

"Distressing information?" Trip said, his voice rising. "Yet _he_ knows all about it – whatever the hell it is!"

Archer stood up and tugged down his uniform. "I'm no relationship expert, but I think it's safe to assume you two need to talk. I'm going to go have a heart-to-heart with Phlox. Please do whatever you have to do to work this out, because I need you on the job tomorrow. Can I count on that?"

Trip removed his scowling attention from her for a moment to focus on the captain. "What about North Star?"

"I'll consult with Shran and Degra and if they are agreeable we'll rendezvous with the Vulcans there tomorrow."

"Thank you," Trip said curtly.

Archer gave him a sad smile. "Last I checked, we're all still on the same side here, Trip."

Tucker just grimaced.

Archer glanced at her with concern – and perhaps some disappointment – and left.

Trip rounded on her. "What the _hell,_ T'Pol? What else have you been keeping from me? No, wait a minute. First tell me about this goddamn P'anar Syndrome. And you'd better believe I'll be checking up on it to make sure whatever you tell me is true."

It was not a particularly auspicious beginning.

x x x

When Russ got to the building that housed Widow Whitlock's apartment, he adjusted Bethany's limp body to avoid knocking her head on the narrow stairs and struggled up to the landing. Finding himself short of hands, he kicked at the door and yelled, "Open up! It's the Sheriff!"

He heard furniture sliding out of the way. Widow Jonson opened the door and peered at him suspiciously. Then her eyes widened. "Bless me, what happened?"

"Bennings shot her," MacReady said. "Clear through the shoulder."

"Let's take a look," Jonson said, and turned towards the interior, muttering, "Who needs aliens when we've got each other?"

A quavering voice came in from behind the curtain stretched across an alcove. "Who is it?"

"The sheriff and Miss Carmichael," Jonson called. "I'll see to them."

"Ask them if they want some tea," the voice said plaintively.

"I'll take care of it. Just you rest now," Jonson called back. "Put her down here," she said, quickly pulling out a sheet and draping it over a settee in front of the unlit fireplace. She took one look at Bethany's pale, perspiration-beaded face and stuck a bolster under her feet. "Get me that blanket over there," she ordered.

Russ hastened to obey, and soon Bethany was swathed in a layer of bluenose wool. Her eyes were fluttering.

"Shall I go fetch the doctor?" he asked.

"He'd probably only make things worse," Jonson said grimly. She carefully cut away Bethany's dress with a pair of scissors and examined her gently. "This doesn't look bad," she said. "You already stopped the bleeding, really." She wet a cloth and gently cleaned the wounds on front. She raised the blood-stained cloth to her nose and sniffed, looking surprised. "Huh," she said.

"What?" Russ said.

She lifted Bethany's hair and investigated behind her ears.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm not sure that's really any of your business."

"Why? Is she sick?" he said anxiously.

"No." She gave him a long assessing look. "You've defended those Skag children getting an education. I'd like to think you're not as backward as some of the folk around here. Am I right about that?"

He felt himself go cold. "Why?"

"The ears never lie," Jonson said, and showed him a pattern of odd skin folds on the back of Bethany's right ear.

"Could be just one of those things," Russ said. "Like a cleft palate, or a birth mark."

"Her blood smells of it, too. Not that she's full-blood. It would be drying more greenish brown if it were. She's a half-breed … or quarter-breed, maybe."

He sank to his knees. "I don't even know what to begin to think about this," he said heavily.

She scowled at him. "There are more mixed bloods around than you realize. The Skags don't want their babies when they're born looking like us. Would you want to be reminded that some Human had his way with you … or your woman … whether you wanted it or not? They get left on the church stoop, if they're lucky." She proceeded to dab Bethany's wounds with something that reeked of alcohol from a brown bottle.

"Does she know?" Russ asked.

Jonson shrugged. "You'd have to ask her."

"But what if she doesn't?" He sighed.

"The way I see it, it hardly matters," Jonson said. "She was raised Human. For all the concern she has about those Skags, I don't think she'd ever imagined living among them. So I reckon you should keep your mouth shut about this, Sheriff, and save everyone some grief."

Bethany's eyes had stopped fluttering, and her breathing had evened out into sleep. He looked down at her lovely face. He ought to feel differently about her, shouldn't he? But instead he just felt more protective. "I know you deliver babies, sometimes. Do you think a Skag and a Human can safely…?"

She huffed. "Here's the evidence right in front of you. But there's always going to be a chance … not a big one, perhaps, but still a chance … that it would come out looking like one of them. I've seen it happen."

"I've never heard about it."

"Of course not. The lucky ones are taken to Skagtown and left there, and then the family tells you the baby died. But they're not all so lucky. I'm sure you remember the Donaldsons."

Russ stared at her. Donaldson had killed his wife and baby and then himself, and burned down his ranch to boot.

"She was Skag?"

"No, not her," Jonson said. "I'd guess that it was Donaldson himself … or whoever got her with child. The truth has a way of making itself known sooner or later, but that doesn't mean we can handle it."

She finished bandaging Bethany and started cleaning up the bloodied rags. Russ watched, still feeling a bit dazed. Her husband had been found dead in his barn one morning at the age of forty-two. The doctor had said it was natural causes … as far as he knew. There'd always been just a slight whiff of suspicion about the whole thing, if only because the man had gotten himself into trouble with gambling debts. He'd been known to patronize one of the town prostitutes pretty regularly, too.

And Widow Jonson, as the sometime-midwife and informal apothecary in town, knew plenty of concoctions that could kill a man.

Which was really more dangerous, Russ wondered: the terrible truth, or the desperate secret?

x x x

Skrim was hungry. Skrim was scared. Skrim was disgusted.

Bennings lay where the sheriff had left him, smelling of Human blood and dank Human urine. His breath rattled wetly, but it kept coming, tortured breath after tortured breath.

As that dreadful rattling went on and on, Skrim imagined himself putting his shovel through the man's throat, or stuffing that gaping mouth with sawdust. The world would be a better place for it. It was well known that, from the time he was old enough to run, Bennings had delighted in tormenting any creature he could find in a weaker position than his own. He'd learned to behave himself a little better around other Humans as he'd grown up – at least the ones who could whup him – but he'd never extended that courtesy to the Skagarans. Never had to. Everyone knew a Skag was fair game.

Skrim stared at the place where MacReady had disappeared from sight. The sheriff was not a bad man, but he'd turned a blind eye to Bennings and his cronies for years. And now he'd left him here without any thought to what it might mean to a lone Skagaran.

"What the _hell_?"

Skrim turned. Gunderson. At least his boss wasn't likely to lynch him just for being there. "The sheriff told me to make sure he didn't get away, sir."

Gunderson stared down at the pathetic heap. "Is that _Bennings?_"

"He tried to shoot the sheriff, and then he shot Miss Bethany instead."

"She all right?"

"Sheriff took her off to get help."

Gunderson made a disgusted sound deep in his throat. "And he just left this man bleeding in _my_ _yard_?"

Skrim said nothing. It never paid to criticize another Human. "What would you like me to do, boss?" There were some advantages to having absolutely no authority. He would love to be relieved of any further responsibility right now, for example.

Gunderson was looking around, his face sour. "I don't see any aliens, do you?"

Not unless he counted himself. "No, sir."

"Thought I'd better make sure no one was looting my mill, especially when I noticed Bennings and his low-life friends weren't in the caves."

Skrim tensed. That meant Bennings' friends might be about.

"Let's just cover him up," Gunderson said grimly.

Skrim was puzzled. "With a blanket?"

"With sawdust, you idiot. You've got a shovel. Get to work. I don't want this bloody mess in my yard for just anyone to see, especially not his friends. When the sheriff is ready, he can come get his man, but I'm not going to risk _my_ neck over it."

"But he's not dead," Skrim said. He couldn't see how Gunderson could possibly have missed that inconvenient truth. The man's breathing was as loud as ever.

"I'm going to pretend you didn't say that," Gunderson said. "Go on. Start shoveling."

Skrim shook his head. It wasn't so much a moral issue – he wanted Bennings dead the way he wanted any dangerous predator dead. But Bennings had allies. "I could hang for it," he said.

"Not if I tell them I told you to do it," Gunderson said. "If it comes to that, which it won't."

Skrim stared at him. It was easy for _him_ to say. He wasn't the one who would get strung up – either officially or unofficially. Not that he was absolutely positive someone wouldn't take out their retribution on Gunderson, too. Officially or unofficially. Nor did he trust Gunderson not to cut him loose, if it meant saving himself. "No, sir. I can't do that."

"Then you're fired."

Twelve years he'd worked for this man. His income, pathetic by Human standards, made the difference between a fairly comfortable existence for his extended family and endless scrabbling to survive.

He threw down the shovel.

"Are you _crazy?_" Gunderson said.

Skrim turned and walked away.

"Come back here, you worthless Skag, or you'll never work in this town again!" Gunderson yelled.

He kept walking. He may have just sentenced his people to slow starvation this winter, but it was hard to feel anything just now but the weight of years of servitude lifting off his back.

Fuck the Humans.

_**To be continued**_


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimers, etc.** in Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** I caught a cold and was not much use for gardening, so you get another chapter sooner rather than later. As always, many thanks to my reviewers. (Brandyjane, the first scene is for you!)

I should probably also apologize for managing to find just about every possible way to spell Pa'nar Syndrome. Damn those Vulcan apostrophes!

* * *

><p>T'Pol was already sitting in the lone additional seat in the ready room. Trip decided to stay where he was, standing. Partly it was because he wanted the height advantage; partly it was because it felt weird taking the captain's chair when she had the higher rank. Mostly, he just didn't want to place a desk between them, though he wasn't sure <em>why,<em> exactly.

For once T'Pol's soft voice actually betrayed traces of the fear and shame he could feel through their bond. She kept her eyes down as she said, "You will find it difficult to verify anything about Pa'nar Syndrome unless you speak to Phlox. Vulcans don't share information about it. It can be contracted only through a mind meld, and Vulcans consider anyone who would engage in that practice a social deviant."

He frowned down at her. A social deviant? Like a sexual pervert? Or someone who ate with their hands?

First things first, though: "What's a mind meld?"

She glanced at him, then back down at her lap. "Some Vulcans have the ability to share their thoughts through a physical, telepathic link between minds. A small minority, such as the V'tosh Katur, have embraced this ability and worked to develop it, despite the great stigma attached."

Didn't this mean _he_ was a deviant, too, then? "T'Pol, I _often_ sense your thoughts."

"We sense each other's _emotions_ through our mate bond," she said. "As far as I know, that is neither deliberate nor controllable, and while it is not much spoken of, it is known to happen between mates. However, the ability to _fully_ link two minds apparently requires both native ability and skill. It is far more intimate. It is also quite…" She swallowed, and he felt a shiver of helplessly remembered revulsion through their bond. "…_intrusive._"

He remembered how quickly the V'tosh Katur had scrambled off – about the same time T'Pol had spent time in sick bay with a mysterious ailment. "Is that how you got this? From the V'tosh Katur?"

"Tolaris persuaded me to try a meld. When I found his presence in my mind unpleasant and tried to withdraw, he attempted to stop me." He felt another surge of revulsion, more profound this time. After a moment, she added, "Phlox and I are unsure whether it was the struggle that caused the disease, or merely the contact. If he was suffering from the syndrome himself, it might explain his behavior."

"Or maybe he was just a bastard," Trip muttered. He tamped down a surge of useless jealousy that she had allowed someone else such a liberty. He'd held no claim on T'Pol back then, and, more to the point, she'd obviously found it traumatic. "And so now…?"

"Without Phlox's current treatment regimen, my neurochemistry would become increasingly imbalanced, eventually leading to disability and death."

It landed like a blow to the gut. He walked to Jon's window and stared out at space … and the reflected image of his mate huddled in her chair. How could she manage to sound so blasé about _disability and death_? "Isn't there a cure?"

"If this regimen remains effective, I may not need one. In any case, I remain hopeful that Phlox will develop a cure. He is a talented researcher, and little attention had been given to the disease before he began."

He turned around. "We don't even know how long Phlox will be staying with us! He could head home to Denobula any day now. _Then _what happens?"

"Phlox has assured me that he will continue to work on this problem for as long as it takes. And I also understand the treatment regimen well enough to duplicate it if needed."

Silence fell. Trip changed his mind about sitting and sank into the captain's chair. His initial angry alarm was settling down into irritation. "So how come the captain knows all about this, but I don't?"

"He was aware of Tolaris's assault at the time, but not of the Pa'nar Syndrome that resulted. However, a year later Phlox attempted to gather information about the disease from some Vulcan physicians while we were at Dekendi III for a medical conference. Those doctors correctly deduced that I had the disease and attempted to recall me as someone unfit to serve the High Command. That is how the Captain got involved. As I recall he was also quite irate that Phlox and I had kept my condition private."

"You'd think that might have given you a clue that we're not exactly big fans of being kept in the dark."

Her eyes narrowed. "Yet your society claims to value medical privacy. I still see no particular logic in burdening you with this information. There is nothing you can do about it."

"You don't know that! Besides, the logic would be in not having it blow up in your face when I _did_ find out about it." He put his hands on his thighs and leaned forward. "Why don't you just admit you don't like to be perceived as weak in even the slightest way?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Very well. I don't like to be perceived as weak in even the slightest way."

He snorted. "So is _this_ the reason you came with us into the Expanse?"

She looked surprised by the question. "No. I simply did not wish to leave _Enterprise_… or you."

Now_ that _was an enticing idea … that she'd been unable to tear herself away from him, especially since that was before any encounter with Trellium-D. But he didn't quite buy it. "But we do have Trellium-D to thank for you that first night together, don't we?"

Her eyes shifted away. "It probably did weaken certain restraints on my part."

"And now?"

"We've already discussed this, Trip. Once established, a Vulcan mate bond…."

"No, I mean … you're still not completely healthy. Some of the behavior I've been seeing just isn't typical of you. Have you consulted Phlox about it?"

Shame spiked through the bond. She looked down. "No."

"I think you should," he said. "_We _should, together."

"You don't trust me."

"Not with this stuff, not now. It wouldn't be very logical of me, would it?"

"Very well," she said stiffly. "We will consult Phlox."

He was almost afraid to ask one last question. "So is this thing contagious?"

"Apparently it can only be transmitted by mind meld," she said. "Since I am not a melder myself, and would not meld with you even if I could, there should be no danger of transmission." Her eyes shifted away again.

He stared at her. He knew she through the bond that she was being sincere. So why did that feel like it might just have been another lie?

x x x

Sheriff MacReady left Bethany sleeping under the watchful eye of Widow Jonson and walked back to the saw mill.

Instead of Bennings and Skrim, he found a new, smaller pile of sawdust next to the big one – a distinctly oblong pile.

"Sheriff," Gunderson said calmly. He was sitting on the back stoop of his mill. A shovel was propped next to him. An antique rifle lay across his lap.

"Where's Bennings?" Russ asked.

Gunderson pointed his chin at the new pile.

Russ said, "He died, then."

Gunderson didn't bother to confirm the obvious. "I don't see any killer aliens here yet, do you? If they're coming, they're certainly taking their time."

"Yep," Russ said, "but then again I wasn't given their itinerary." He sighed. "Where's Skrim?"

Gunderson scowled. "Fired."

Skrim had worked at that mill for years; more than once Gunderson had described him as "one of the good ones." Russ felt a pang of remorse – had he gotten the man fired? "Why?"

"Doesn't matter. Any Skag can do his job."

"As well as _he_ did?"

"What's done is done. How's Miss Bethany?"

"She should be fine. Look, Skrim was only here because I asked him to stay."

Gunderson's eyes turned so cold that Russ's gun hand tightened, ready to move. "I won't have him back. If you want him to have a job, you'll have to find him one. And don't be looking to me for a reference, neither."

"Huh," Russ said. "Maybe it's time we had a Skagaran deputy."

Gunderson's mouth fell open in outrage. "You wouldn't dare!"

Russ grimaced. No, he probably wouldn't. It would be political suicide.

x x x

Jon returned to the bridge after a frustrating meeting with an unflappable Phlox, who'd not only refused to apologize for keeping T'Pol's addiction secret, but had begun to scan him and suggest that his blood pressure needed to be treated.

He followed Malcolm to his station when he got up to vacate the captain's chair. "Anything I need to know from tactical?" he asked.

"Well, we need to resupply," Malcolm said. "We're down to just twelve photonic torpedoes."

"That's a tough one. We don't even have access to cheap spices anymore. I suspect we may be depending on the kindness of strangers for some time to come."

Reed folded his arms. "So much for our dreams of galactic dominion."

Jon laughed, and then he laughed some more, until it occurred to him that there was perhaps a hint of hysteria involved. He leaned closer to his tactical officer. "Are they still in there?"

"Left about ten minutes ago, sir."

Then they'd spent some time together. He hoped that it was productive. He resisted the urge to ask how they'd looked. "I'll be in my ready room, then. Hoshi? Care to join me?"

The smile on Malcolm's face evaporated.

Now that was interesting.

Once the door closed behind her, Jon held out his arms. "I could have sworn you were about to give me a hug when I first got back," he said. "I'll take it now, if you're still willing."

For just a moment, she looked flummoxed. Then she smiled and embraced him - but not nearly as warmly as she would have the first time. "Welcome back, sir," she said.

Yep. She was definitely with someone. Malcolm, if he had to put money on it.

"Thanks," he said, and stepped back, giving her plenty of distance.

Oh well. Jon had been a little sweet on Hoshi from the first day he'd met her, but he'd known she was too young, and – once under his command – far too off limits. But he'd occasionally wondered – especially in the course of some lonely nights in those frigid Andorian quarters – if those restrictions still needed to apply in their new reality.

But some did, clearly. He was still too old for her. "I'd like you to join Shran and Degra and me for dinner tonight. I need another set of eyes in there, and T'Pol will be otherwise occupied. Afterwards, I'd like you to give me your best assessment of our guests' intentions."

She frowned. "I thought you said you trusted them?"

"I do, but I'd like another point of view on that. Believe it or not, I've been known to be wrong."

She gave him a crooked smile. "Do you expect to need any translating?"

"I suppose the Aquatics might decide they want to join the conversation via the comm. Would you be up to that?"

"Of course, sir."

"Yes, of course. How are you doing otherwise, Hoshi?"

"I'm fine, sir."

Was her voice was just a bit strained? "I hear the crew has been pairing up pretty extensively."

"Yes, that's safe to say."

Why not just tell him? But perhaps she and the rest of the crew needed a signal from him about what was permissible. "Well, I think that's pretty understandable," he said, but then added briskly, "1900 in the captain's mess, Ensign. Dismissed."

Maybe he didn't really want to know.

It was already strange enough that Trip and T'Pol were a couple, though he supposed that shouldn't really have surprised him so much. There had always been sparks there. He was happy for them if that could possibly work out, but now the two people he was closest to on the ship – hell, in the whole universe – had turned to each other, leaving him very much on the outside.

He sat down. He looked up at the ceiling. He was out of practice ducking – once again he'd nearly knocked his head getting to his chair. His stainless steel mug still sat on his desk – clean and waiting for him. He wondered how their coffee supplies were doing. No doubt there was an inventory of stores somewhere. T'Pol's command logs sat waiting on his screen, along with weeks and weeks of department reports. Ships called _Enterprise _still sailed across the opposite bulkhead, mute reminders of a proud tradition brutally cut short.

Now what?

x x x

In the turbolift, T'Pol was surprised when Trip asked for Deck B. "I thought you wished to verify my condition with Phlox," she said.

She had been greatly relieved when he'd offered her the _oz'hesta _before leading her out of the ready room. It appeared she was forgiven. Perhaps Humans valued full disclosure more than they valued good conduct. That was, at least, her current working hypothesis, since Archer had also seemed quickly ready to move on.

"I think we can wait to talk to Phlox," Trip said. "Besides, the captain might still be there."

"You're still angry at him." Trip had been radiating animosity earlier, when the captain was still with them.

"Just staking my claim," Trip said, and his mouth set in a grim line. Once on Deck B, he set off for his quarters.

She followed him. Once in the privacy of his quarters, she asked, "Do you consider the captain a rival?" Did Trip really think she had no particular preference?

"Not _romantically_," he said. "But if I know Jon, he won't hesitate to claim you … or me … for whatever damned thing he decides is important."

"He is the captain," she said. "That is his prerogative."

"I know," Trip said. "I'm just trying to establish some boundaries before anything gets out of hand. Maybe it even worked. We got the night off, didn't we?" He put his hands on her hips and leaned close to her ear. "Have you ever heard of 'make-up sex'?"

She _had_ heard the term in her research. She had assumed that it had something to do with the wearing of make-up, and had puzzled over how painting oneself that could increase sexual satisfaction. But then, the Humans had a wide array of strange practices that they felt could enhance the experience of coitus. (Some of them, she had discovered through recent experimentation, actually did.) She said, "I know that it is considered particularly enjoyable, although I fail to understand why."

"Well…" Trip said, and began to tongue her ear. "It's like this. We had a fight… we aired some nasty stuff… and we came out okay." He switched to her other ear. She began to feel quite warm. "So now we take all that energy… and, you know… put it to good use." He pulled her close and began to work on the zipper on the back of her catsuit. Clearly he was already quite ready to put some energy to a very particular use.

"When did we _fight?_" she asked, inhaling his scent and then tasting his neck with her tongue.

His chuckle vibrated the neck under her lips. "T'Pol, do you not _want_ to have sex?"

"I didn't say that."

He grinned. "Then let's make up."

_**To be continued…**_


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimers, etc.** in Chapter 1.

**Author's Notes:** As always, thank you, reviewers (and helpful PM editors). As warned, I may yet need to change that R/S eventually. (Here's a query for you: Does it still merit that R/S even if the relationship fails? Does one-sided A/S merit a warning? And no, I have no idea how this is all going to work out yet.)

* * *

><p>When Hoshi left the captain's ready room, Malcolm drilled her with her a look that clearly demanded <em>what was that about?<em>

She stopped at his station. "He wants me to sit in on the dinner with Degra and Shran tonight. They might need to loop the Aquatics in over the comm."

"Ah. Not that easy to break bread with Aquatics, I imagine," Reed said. "It would just fall apart." He lowered his voice. "Stop by my quarters after?"

"Um, sure," she said, and went back to her station.

Malcolm had rebuffed her last suggestion that they get together with the excuse that he was needed for some drills Hayes had scheduled – and he hadn't suggested an alternative time, either. She wondered whether he _really_ wanted to see her now, or just want to find out more about what was going on.

The sex had been very good, she thought – extra nice after such a long spell without – but she'd noticed he didn't talk much afterwards.

Maybe for him it wasn't really all he'd hoped for. Or maybe he was one of those guys who got bored quickly. _Really _quickly. "You know, you don't have to stick around and cuddle if that's not your thing," she'd told him last time.

"I'm fine," he'd said.

"I won't take it personally."

"Do _you_ not like it?" he asked.

"No, I like it," she said. "But, you know, I'm a girl."

He'd smirked. "I noticed."

Silence fell again.

She said, "It's just – you're so quiet."

"Is that a problem?" he said. "My mother and father never seemed to converse all that much. They'd each sit there reading or viewing, or _he'd _pontificate about something until I just wanted to slap him, while she'd periodically say, 'Yes, dear' without much appearing to listen. I'm not sure how it's supposed to be done, perhaps."

"You never had trouble chatting with me before we started messing around."

"_Messing around_ is it?" he said. "I think I'm insulted."

"It's not a reflection on your technique," she said. "At all." And it wasn't. Clearly, the man had developed some tactical ability in more areas than one.

He smiled. And then there was yet another lull.

She propped herself up on one elbow and stared down at him. "So you're _not_ just messing around?"

He'd blinked, then, and looked a bit wary. "Why, are you?"

"Well, no. But I'm also not … you know."

"What?"

"You know. Planning a wedding in my head. It's just nice to be together. To be with…" She stopped. She'd been about to say 'someone' and suddenly realized he might take that the wrong way. "With you."

He'd looked just a touch nonplussed. And that was the last time they'd been together – granted, not very long ago at all, and it wasn't as if they hadn't been busy in the meantime.

She wasn't sure why he'd been put off at that point, if he even was. Did he want her to take it more seriously than that, or was he freaked out at the idea that she might … or that he might? Was she just imagining a cooling off?

And then, of course, there was the captain.

Yes, she had been heading towards him to give him a hug when he'd arrived on the bridge, earlier. But that moment had passed! She'd never known him to push an intimacy before, even back in the days before _Enterprise _when she'd been star struck by the dashing Captain Archer and might have been more receptive to it.

Not that a hug was really an intimacy, but still. It had felt very odd. And then he'd gone all brisk on her.

_Men. _

No wonder she'd been content to avoid all these complications before.

x x x

Shran was early, as Jon had requested. He'd gotten used to discussing his next steps with the Andorian, and it wasn't as if he had anyone else to bounce ideas off of at the moment.

Of course, the man's advice was not always terribly helpful. "I don't understand how you can be so friendly with the species that destroyed your planet," he said. "If you were Andorian, you'd have already demanded vengeance for the blood debt they owe you!"

"And how would that contribute towards our long-term survival?" Jon said. "Besides, if what Degra told me is true, it's hardly his fault Earth got destroyed."

"He's the man who designed the weapon that destroyed it!"

"Well," Jon said. "There's also an old Earth saying: _Keep your friends close and your enemies closer_."

"Ah, I see," Shran said. "Now I'm wondering if you see _me_ more as a friend or an enemy."

Jon smiled. "I know you're my friend. But I'm not going to assume the same for the Imperial Guard, and I know you owe more loyalty to them than to me. So…"

Shran scowled. "Andoria will be your friend as long as your friendship aligns perfectly with the best interests of the Andorian people. I doubt you will find any diplomatic relationship better than that anywhere in the known universe."

"In that case we're screwed, because we've just been reduced to a tiny speck in any species' calculation of self-interest."

Shran didn't bother to disagree with him. "Are there any valuable resources in this system you want to claim? Does it have any potential strategic value?"

"Not that we know of yet," Jon said, which was true. It was also all he would say to Shran even if it wasn't true.

"Then I'd suggest you tap your friends for everything you can get from them as quickly as you can, while they're still feeling some sympathy for you."

Jon grimaced. Humans had gotten used to the idea that they were decades behind the Vulcans and most of the other space-faring species, and had plowed ahead anyway, confident that they would catch up someday.

Now they were reduced to begging for scraps from the table.

Hoshi arrived through the door from the mess hall. "Am I too early?" she asked.

"Not at all. Commander Shran, I believe you know my Communications Officer, Ensign Sato."

Shran responded in Andorian, which Hoshi replied to in kind. The two continued for some while, apparently joking, possibly even flirting.

Jon watched, recognizing odd words here and there from his time on the _Kumari._ Hoshi's accent was excellent, of course. It also appeared she was willing to flirt with anyone but _him._

He sighed and told himself to get a grip. Probably he just needed a vacation.

Not that there would ever be one. Hell, he probably wasn't even _employed_ anymore.

When Degra arrived, Cunningham served them dinner and then faded into the corner.

Degra said, "The Aquatics were unable to decide whether to join the conversation over dinner in time," he told them. "I suppose we might hear something from them if we linger long enough."

Jon began by suggesting that they move their planned rendezvous with the Vulcans the next day to North Star, noting that he would like to be able to provide the planet with protection from any marauding Reptilians.

"I don't think you're likely to encounter too many more," Degra said, "But that would be fine with me. It may take awhile for the Aquatics to decide whether to join us."

"Then I won't wait for them," Jon said, already impatient with that particular species trait.

Degra said, "If I may offer some advice, Captain, as a representative of a species that lost its own home world in a terrible cataclysm: Establish your new home as quickly as you can. If you don't, you may never be able to gather up the scattered traces of your people. And as we have just seen, a scattered and traumatized people are far too easy for those of ill will to manipulate."

"Hmm," Jon said. "Of course, being all in one place would also leave us quite vulnerable to anyone who might want to come along and wipe out what's left of us."

He noticed Hoshi's eyes widen even as Degra flushed. The Xindi muttered, "Yes, I suppose that is an understandable concern."

The meal continued in silence for a few moments, before Degra added. "You do have one great advantage over my people. For us, finding a new uninhabited planet that comfortably suited our various species' needs proved impossible."

Jon just smiled and continued eating.

Shran said, "I've never heard of a planet evolving five different sentient species. How did the Xindi manage that?"

"Our home world was 90% ocean. We had four extremely widely spaced continents with very different climates. As you may have noticed, it is not a particularly simple situation. There was and continues to be a great deal of interspecies tension."

"Yes, it's amazing you didn't all murder each other long before you reached space," Shran said.

Degra said, "I tend to agree. Captain Archer, I am curious about something. My science officer tells me there are actually _two_ humanoid species on this planet you're claiming."

"About 20 percent of the population is descended from the original Skagaran colonists," Jon said. "They captured the Humans from Earth and brought them to the planet as slave labor, but the Humans eventually rebelled and became the dominant group. You don't recognize the species, do you?"

"No." Degra asked. "What will you do with them?"

"What do you mean?"

"Does it make sense to try to establish a new population base where you have two potentially warring species from two completely different gene pools?"

Jon stared at him. "Where would the Skagarans go?" he said. "There's been no trace of their forebears in over 250 years. Besides, we have already noted some, um, interbreeding."

"Ah," Degra said. "Fascinating. Given the relative numbers, this suggests that one species will ultimately be absorbed into the other, then, even as you both adapt to this new planet. In the end, neither species will be the same."

Jon blinked at him, taken aback.

He looked at Hoshi. She didn't look any more thrilled at that idea than he was.

x x x

"I told you make-up sex is good," Trip said.

T'Pol was lying at his side, naked. "My impression is that you consider _all_ sex good."

"Well, we _are_ doing pretty well," he said, and grinned. "Who'd have thunk it? At least I don't have to worry about you faking it."

"Faking it?"

"Um…that's when someone pretends to … um, have an orgasm."

"That can be _faked_?" What a peculiar undertaking.

"Supposedly," Trip said. "Some women claim they will sometimes just… well..." He got a mischievous glint in his eye and launched into an extremely undignified impression of her climactic moans.

She expressed her displeasure at being reminded of them by gracing him with her most expressionless stare. "Why_?_"

"I dunno. Because it's just not happening and they'd rather just get it over with and go watch a movie?"

"You are indeed correct that I would never fake that_,_" T'Pol said. "If anything, I would attempt to suppress it."

"Oh, don't you dare!" He rolled on top of her, pinning her down, and stared down into her face. "Promise me you won't ever do that."

His vehemence surprised her. "In a location with less effective sound-proofing than this, surely you would agree that some additional restraint might prove helpful?"

"Well… you can be _quieter._ But I still want you to… _you know_. Honestly, it would just kill me if you didn't…."

"Why?" she asked.

"Because my pleasure depends on yours."

"That is not true," she said. "My research into male sexual response in your species indicates that…"

"That's not what I mean," Trip said quickly. "I'm just saying that when we're _together,_ my pleasure is very much wrapped up in yours. I get turned on by seeing you turned on. And if I ever thought you weren't turned on when we were together…"

"Yes?" she said, honestly curious.

"Well, that would be _bad_ sex."

"I see," she said uncertainly.

He sighed. "Which is not to say we won't ever have an off night, or that it's a big crisis if we do, once in awhile. Sometimes people just aren't completely on their game for whatever reason."

Why was he telling her this? "Since my sexual arousal is fully dependent on _yours, _the quality of our sex is entirely up to you."

Trip rolled over to lie next to her. His eyebrows had drawn together. "What do you mean _entirely up to me_?"

"What part of it was unclear?"

"I just… I could have sworn you told the captain that you desired me, too."

"I do."

"But you just said _your_ arousal was completely dependent on mine."

"I _desire_ you as my mate," she said. "But the mating itself is driven by your state of arousal."

He looked dubious. "Are you claiming you don't have _any_ independent sex drive at all? Don't forget I saw you that time … you know … back in year two, when you tried to climb into Malcolm's EV suit."

She felt her face grow warm in embarrassment. "That was the _pon farr,_ the seven-year mating cycle. It was sparked by a virus. Normally, that would be sparked by my mate."

"That must have been one hell of a horny virus, then. Doesn't that just _prove_ some of that had to come from _you?_"

"It proves no such thing. Vulcans denied a sexual outlet in _pon farr_ typically die. What you saw was desperation."

"Oh." He frowned in concern. "And that might come around again?"

"I don't know," she said. "I am hopeful that it will not. Since you are not Vulcan and not constrained by the Vulcan mating cycle, we are able to have sex much more often, and also a great deal less … urgently."

He stared at the ceiling of her bunk. She could sense his earlier good cheer evaporating.

"What is the matter?" she asked him. "I assure you, I far prefer what we have to the Vulcan mating cycle."

"I dunno. I've just always kind of enjoyed being wanted by my partner. I _thought _you wanted me."

"I do want you."

"Yeah, but only if I want you first."

"You're thinking only in terms of sex. I assure you, I want you far more completely than that. I want you in _every_ way." An ancient phrase from the betrothal with Koss rose to her mind, and she shared it with him: "_Parted and never parted, never and always touching and touched_."

He grimaced. "Meaning?"

"It's from the betrothal bonding ritual. It would appear to be something of a paradox, but I assume that it's a reference to the psychic qualities of the mate bond. It is language that comes down from ancient times, before Surak."

For T'Pol it also spoke to a hunger that had not yet been satisfied for her no matter how much 'good' sex they had, or how completely they seemed to understand each other. She craved an even more profound connection to him: to be _parted and never parted_ – it was a state of completion, she hoped, which, when achieved, would mean she need not experience anxiety every time they were apart. Even now, with him lying next to her again, their shoulders touching, his affection for her pulsing comfortably along their bond, she wanted _more. _

Perhaps this merely took time; perhaps this was why Vulcan newlyweds always spent the first year together.

But she had also begun to fear it was actually a veiled reference to mind melds that had survived because modern Vulcans didn't understand the reference well enough to get rid of it. She hoped not, since – for many reasons – there must be no satisfying of the strangely persistent, utterly illogical, terribly irresponsible craving to delve into her mate's mind.

"Would Phlox know anything about it?" Trip said.

"No."

"How about these Vulcans we're rendezvousing with tomorrow?"

"Presumably," T'Pol said. "However, that may be problematic." They would be so appalled by all that she had done.

He grabbed her hand in his. "T'Pol. Have you considered the possibility that there are things I can't give you simply because I'm not Vulcan?"

Yes, she had. "That is irrelevant."

He smiled crookedly at her. "Why?"

"There is no point in even considering it," she said. "You _are_ my mate. There is nothing to be done about that, and I would not want to even if there were."

"All right," he said, apparently letting the matter go. He squeezed her hand and raised it to his lips and kissed it. "I guess we should get some sleep," he said.

She had assumed earlier, when he got on top of her, that there might be a second round of copulation. Was he demurring because he thought she didn't want it?

Was he demurring because he thought she didn't care one way or the other?

"Trip, I do find having sex with you very agreeable," she said, just to clarify. Indeed, there was probably nothing that gave her more pleasure than being desired by him.

He pulled her back into the "spooning" position that worked best for them when they actually tried to sleep through the night together on the narrow bed. She felt his lips on the back of her head. "Yeah, I know," he said softly. "Good night, darlin'."

But he did not fall asleep quickly, instead lying there very quietly as if he hoped she would think he had fallen asleep. So she lay there in his arms, conscious that he was wrestling with anxiety and sadness and affection and determination and wondering if she ought to turn and confront him about his feelings or just quietly respect his need to have them … until, finally, he really did fall asleep.

_**To be continued…**_


	19. Chapter 19

**Disclaimers, etc.** in Chapter One.

**Author's Note: **And on we go. Your reviews are much appreciated as always.

* * *

><p>When the air lock released them into the corridor of battered <em>Enterprise, <em>Soval watched the Humans reunite with each other.

Forrest and Archer hugged as if they were family. Forrest's aide, Ramirez, received nearly as warm a reception.

Harris hung back and smiled politely at no one in particular, but Soval saw the tactical officer Reed's eyes widen for a moment upon noticing him, though he betrayed no further signs of recognition.

Soval had wondered why a civilian consultant with no prior achievements had been deemed important enough to bring on this journey. Then again, Soval had noticed certain oddities in Reed's own resume.

He hoped both men could be trusted to serve their species' best interest.

Soval noticed T'Pol also watching as the Humans made their greetings, so he went to her. "I am pleased to see you again, T'Pol," he said in Vulcan. Obviously, the Vulcan Science Directorate's theories of what would happen to her in the Expanse had been wrong. Nor did the Pa'nar Syndrome she had been reported to suffer from appear to be causing any obvious difficulties.

"Peace and long life, Ambassador," she said, employing the more formal greeting, and in Standard English. "I'm sure you remember Commander Tucker," she said, and raised two fingers in an _oz-hesta_.

Soval's gaze became quite fixed on the sight as Tucker returned from greeting Forrest to raise his fingers to hers. The notoriously outspoken engineer – far too young for his original posting on this ship, although he did appear to have matured somewhat since then – grinned widely. "Ambassador."

"Commander," Soval said. He turned back to his former aide and tried Vulcan once again. "Explain."

"Commander Tucker is my bond mate," she said, once again insisting on English.

"Your mother approved marriage to this Human?" He supposed it was not beyond the realm of possibility.

"I did not have the opportunity to consult her."

"Then you dishonor her," Soval said. "Though that may be rather irrelevant now."

"Irrelevant?" T'Pol said.

"Your mother is in hiding. We have much to discuss."

x x x

Malcolm wondered why he was surprised that Harris was still alive. Of course a man like that might well make it his business to ensure that he and his interests survived any threat. Or perhaps it had simply been dumb luck – the man traveled off-planet quite a lot, after all. Still, what a dark joke from the universe that after the billions of lives lost on Earth and the colonies, this particular man had managed to turn up on his own ship here and now.

Harris had not betrayed any familiarity with him, so Malcolm followed his lead and simply listened as Forrest filled them in on the status of Earth's known survivors.

Most of the 23,000-plus Humans accounted for so far were on Vulcan, in twelve different refugee facilities as well as the embassy compound. Earth ships that had survived included a few Neptune-class Starfleet ships that had been out of the Solar system, as well as a number of private commercial vessels. Among them, Forrest noted, was a real oddity: a mining facility on the moon had turned out to have warp capability and had managed to escape while Earth was being destroyed.

"We could use a mining facility down below," Trip said. He was sitting next to T'Pol – _right _next to her, practically shoulder to shoulder, and furthermore his left and her right hands were hidden from view. Malcolm blinked. They were not usually so indiscreet.

"Oh, I'm sure we'll get Mr. Paxton out here sooner or later," Forrest said, with a glance at Harris. "We just don't care for the terms he's requesting at the moment."

"Then North Star is definitely where we plan to resettle?" Trip asked.

Forrest grimaced. "It's our best option."

Into the small silence that followed, Soval said, "The availability of resources is likely to be a matter of concern for your species for some time. However, the Vulcan High Command _is_ prepared to offer significant technical and financial support for Humanity's rebuilding efforts … _if _you will guarantee rapid resettlement of the Humans currently in Vulcan refugee camps."

The captain frowned. "What do you mean by _rapid_?"

"Within six months," Soval said. "Apparently, there is concern that the presence of that many Humans is proving disruptive to local communities."

"Six months is a very short period in which to resettle that many refugees," T'Pol observed. "There is a small Suliban refugee population on Vulcan that has been in place for over twenty years."

Trip scowled. "Maybe they don't smell as badly as we do."

Soval said, "The High Command believes that the existence of a habitable planet already settled by Humans should make such unusual speed possible. I should probably note, however, that they did not seek my counsel on the matter. I am merely communicating their proposal."

"Have they explained their reasoning to _you?_" Archer asked Forrest.

Forrest grimaced. "We have not had any direct access to the VHC. Apparently Administrator V'Las's command is preoccupied with other matters."

In other words, the head of the Vulcan High Command no longer considered Humanity worthy of his personal attention. "Perhaps we could gain a greater level of support from the Andorian Empire," Malcolm suggested.

Harris cleared his throat. "While in the past I might have agreed that playing these rivals off against each other might provide some benefit, at this point it also carries significant risk."

"Why?" Archer asked, looking irritated.

Harris said, "Vulcan knows that Andoria has complete scans of a Xindi weapon. They are weighing a preemptive strike on Andoria."

"WHAT?" Archer turned to Soval. "Where is the logic in that, after all the efforts we've taken to establish peace? I don't understand."

"Mr. Harris appears to know more about the matter than I do," Soval said. Malcolm noted the faintest tinge of green in his complexion. "However, I have no reason to believe that he is wrong."

Forrest said, "Emphasizing our relationship with the Andorians risks losing whatever support the Vulcans are willing to provide … not to mention that, aside from allowing Commander Shran to assist you and sheltering a couple thousand of our refugees, Andoria has yet to officially tender _any _support."

"If Vulcan and Andoria go to war, neither of them is going to be able to help us," Archer said. "We might even get pulled into it."

Harris said, "We would have before. It's doubtful either side would see us as useful now. Here's the question of the hour, though: If war breaks out and we are suddenly getting no support of any kind from _anyone,_ can this planet support 23,000 additional Humans?"

Archer turned to T'Pol and Trip. "What do you think?"

Trip said, "If we begin with at least six months' provisions to tide us over, as well as the basic equipment to get some sustainable industry and agriculture up and running, I think we could do it without too much difficulty. It won't be paradise anytime soon, though."

"It is also doubtful we could sustain even a rudimentary space program without the ability to barter _something _of value with other species," T'Pol said. "We have yet to discover any deuterium or dilithium on this planet."

It struck Malcolm that T'Pol had just used "we" about their new home planet. Apparently she had no plans to repatriate to Vulcan.

Perhaps it had struck Trip as well, for he smiled down at the table in front of him for a moment before he said, "Right now just about the only thing this planet has going for it is really good coffee. Who knows, maybe we could grow some spices, too. But our most immediate issue is that its current inhabitants are centuries behind us and not likely to welcome all the changes we'll bring."

"We'll just have to get them up to speed," Forrest said.

"Up to speed with _what?_" Trip said. "They won't be too impressed by a culture that couldn't save itself from annihilation."

Archer said, "We can use the United Earth charter as our model."

Harris said, "Perhaps, but I recommend maintaining martial law for at least the first two or three years."

Malcolm stared at him. He said, "You won't find too many colony survivors going for that. Many of them considered _Earth_ too oppressive, or they wouldn't have left it."

"And that's exactly why we'll have chaos if we let them run wild," Harris said. "Democracy is not a form of government that works well when people are hysterical. Get them settled, let them begin to feel relatively secure again, and then we can run a reasonable democracy."

Trip said, "Can we take a vote on that?"

The group laughed weakly.

"Seriously, though," Trip said. "They do practice a form of local democracy down there, though their idea of justice can be pretty primitive. And they're very aware that they came here initially as slaves. They won't take kindly to the sudden imposition of an oppressive new regime."

"Who said it would be oppressive?" Harris said. "Local officials aren't likely to be a big problem if we clarify their position well enough. But don't assume some bad actors won't try to take advantage of a traumatized population, especially since most of them just lost any power and property they once had and will be looking to get a good footing here while the getting is good. We could lose control of the situation very quickly."

Wasn't not having control of the situation pretty much the whole point of democracy? Malcolm looked to the captain, who looked pensive, but said nothing. No one else looked happy, either, but no one raised another objection.

Perhaps Harris was right, but Malcolm suspected he was the kind of man who would always prefer martial law, as long as he could pull the strings of whoever was in charge.

"Let's hear from _you_ now, Jon," Forrest said. "We want to hear everything you know about the Xindi."

x x x

Trip knew that T'Pol would want to hear the details about her mother as soon as possible – it was hard to miss her barely contained impatience during the larger meeting, especially after he grabbed her hand under the table – and he wasn't too surprised when Soval insisted on meeting with her privately.

"Commander Tucker can hear anything that concerns me," she said.

"If you are going to insist on having him there, there is no point in even discussing the matter further_,_" Soval said, with poorly hidden impatience.

"It's all right," Trip said quickly. "I'll see you later. I need to get down to the planet."

And there, just as he'd feared, came the surge of panic, though all she said was, "Are you sure your presence is necessary?"

"Yes," Trip said, just a bit testily – he'd already had to clear his throat and glare at the captain to get himself included in the landing party. "We'll be back before you know it."

An eyebrow went up – probably over the colloquialism. He could tell she was not reassured, but she nodded and turned away. "Will my quarters be sufficiently private for you?" she asked Soval.

The ambassador frowned but nodded, and they headed off. Trip went to check the shuttle pod. He knew Forrest and Archer were meeting privately before their expedition, but if he notified them when it was ready, maybe they'd hurry up.

There were people waiting in caves down there, for God's sake.

x x x

"My mother can hardly be a Syrannite," T'Pol said. "She's a scientist."

"She would hardly be the first scientist to also be a Syrannite," Soval said. "But you are missing the point."

"Am I?" She was having a hard time believing anything Soval had just told her – that her mother had been accused of stealing classified information, that she was a Syrannite, that she had gone into hiding. It didn't help that a part of her was also anxiously conscious of Trip getting ready to depart for the planet.

"Does it not concern you that the High Command is forcing dissidents to choose between arrest and imprisonment and going into hiding?"

"Of course it does. Especially since my mother has never been a dissident. She has devoted her life to serving Vulcan interests." Indeed, it rather grieved her mother that she had not done the same, though T'Pol had long argued that her service to the Humans served her own people's interests as well.

"In your mother's case I suspect her troubles began with her area of study – DNA analysis of Vulcan population groups. She discovered certain curiosities and discrepancies."

"I fail to see how that makes her a dissident."

"It made her dangerous enough to be _labeled _a dissident. What if some our people are not who they appear to be? What if these same people are in positions of power that allowed them to ensure Vulcan stood by while our closest ally was destroyed, and now allow them to plan a war with Andoria that we cannot win, at least not without terrible cost? What if all of this is ultimately working to weaken our ability to fend off invasion?"

She stared at him. Perhaps the loss of Earth and his own status had been more traumatic than he realized. "I believe that is what Humans would call a_ conspiracy theory_."

"We have known for some time that the Romulans seek reunification."

Yes, she had seen those briefings during her time as an intelligence agent, but she considered the information rather sketchy. "Your evidence for this plot is completely circumstantial. Vulcan may merely be experiencing an unfortunate cyclical turn towards authoritarianism."

"That alone should be enough to concern you," Soval said. "How many lives will be lost in a Vulcan-Andorian war that we have no good reason to wage?"

T'Pol frowned.

"And if _that _does not concern you sufficiently, imagine what it will mean to any Vulcan promises of support for these Humans," he said.

"Is Admiral Forrest aware of your concerns?"

"He is."

She folded her arms. "What would you have me do?"

"Return to Vulcan with me. Your mother believes the Syrannites hold the key to this problem. She gave me this." He put a piece of jewelry – an IDIC, she quickly noticed – in her hand. "It's a map. She wants you to find her."

_**To be continued…**_


	20. Chapter 20

**Disclaimers, et al. **in Chapter One

**Author's Note: ** My apologies for taking so long with this. I can't really blame real life – I just hit a rough patch with the story. It's still not exactly what I want yet, but I think I've kept you waiting long enough. Many thanks, of course, to you rare and wonderful reviewers. (If you manage to log in, you'll get a personal thank you, too.)

* * *

><p>As it turned out, nobody on the planet was still waiting in caves. After 24 hours, they'd apparently decided the bats and rodents and body odor and arguments were more distressing than any marauding aliens could be. Or so Jenner reported. "What happened to your killer aliens?" he demanded of Trip, sparing no more than a glare for Archer and Forrest.<p>

"They lost," Trip said. "Where's the sheriff?"

"How the hell should I know?" Jenner said, and stalked away.

"Is everybody here this friendly?" Forrest asked.

"He's just being cranky," Trip said.

He led his comrades to the sheriff's office, where Garcia told them MacReady was helping Miss Bethany return to her rooming house. "She got shot," he announced, with some relish.

"Is she all right?" Trip asked.

"Sheriff says she is," Garcia said. "Of course, you never know when infection might set in and kill a person who _seemed_ to be just fine…."

Archer said, "Maybe we should get Phlox down here."

"Let's see how she is first," Trip said. There was a chance someone might catch a glimpse of Phlox and decide killer aliens had landed after all.

"I see what you mean about them being centuries behind us," Forrest said, as they walked down the street. The various townsfolk who'd somehow missed the excitement of their shuttle landing stopped in their tracks and stared.

"Well, they're not really that different," Trip said. "Just more ignorant … and very focused on survival."

Jon frowned. "I suppose that last part may apply to all of us soon."

Trip asked Forrest, "If we're going to be under martial law, who gets to be the grand poobah? Harris?"

"No, me," Forrest said. "Not that I'm terribly comfortable with that idea."

Jon said, "I think that's preferable to getting someone who _is _comfortable with it."

Trip agreed with that. "_No _elected official _s_urvived?" he asked.

Forrest said, "Just some local town officials on the colony worlds. Our ambassador to Andoria is technically next in line to lead, but we really need him to do _that_ job right now. He may step in for me eventually. Actually, our ambassador to Vulcan, Chatterjee, had even more seniority, but he resigned his post."

"Why?" Jon asked.

Forrest shrugged. "He's quite bitter is all I know. Not proving helpful at all. His top aide has stepped up admirably, but she's very young. The survivors from Vega and Deneva would eat her for breakfast. Hell, if they got hungry enough, they might even do it literally. There's a reason the Vulcans want our refugees gone. We're talking brawls, assaults, petty crime, and loud protesting about everything from the vegetarian diet to the sonic showers."

Trip shook his head. "Sounds like a good supply of water and protein might be our best bets when they get here. I'm sure the locals wouldn't mind that, either."

"And what are we facing with the Skagarans?" Forrest asked.

Trip said, "I haven't really gotten to know any of them beyond a nodding acquaintance. They keep to themselves. They pretty much have to."

Forrest grimaced. "Who among them should we be talking to?"

Trip said, "I couldn't tell you. Bethany might know."

They headed down the broad, dusty main street towards the rooming house that housed some of the single women in town, which sat at the other end of the street from Widow Jonson's rooming house for men. They'd nearly caught up with MacReady and Bethany, who was obviously leaning on him as they walked slowly towards the expansive front porch, when half a dozen young ladies streamed out to greet their fellow boarder, fluttering about with many expressions of concern.

It didn't take long for the women to notice the three men also arriving, though. Trip was amused by the sharp change in their focus_._

"Why, Mr. Tucker, you're back!"

"Are we safe from those nasty aliens now, Mr. Tucker?"

"Who are your friends, Mr. Tucker?"

"Are they _married_?" Loretta was the most forward among them, as usual, but he rather liked her directness. She had once explained to Trip that she, like many of the girls, had come to town looking for either work or a husband, because their ranching families lived too far out into the country for them to meet anyone.

"I'll let _them_ answer that," Trip said with a grin, and left Jon and Forrest to their fate. He caught up with MacReady and Bethany. "You all right?" he asked her.

She looked pale but nodded. "I'm fine."

"We want to talk to you about the Skagarans," he said.

MacReady scowled. "You sure that's necessary right now?"

"If she's not feeling good, I'll get our doc down here for her," Trip said. "Or we'll take her up and check her out. How's that sound?"

"Take her up and check her out no matter what, and you've got yourself a deal," MacReady said. "You might as well, anyway – you won't get any private conversation in _this_ house."

"He's right about that," Bethany said, and sank down onto the second step up to the porch. "How far do I have to walk?"

"Just give me a minute and it won't be far at all," Trip said. The captain and the admiral were now completely surrounded. He called out, "Cap'n, I'm going to go get the shuttle and bring it closer."

"I'll go with you!" Archer said, sounding quite desperate.

"Belay that, Captain!" Forrest said, his tone just as dire.

Trip snickered and took off.

x x x

"I cannot go to Vulcan," T'Pol said.

"Your logic for this?" Soval demanded.

She didn't answer immediately. Soval wouldn't understand that she simply couldn't imagine being away from her bond mate that long. "They need me here."

Soval's eyebrow went up. "Then apparently you no longer feel any sense of duty towards your mother – or your people."

"That is not true."

He grimaced. "I won't pretend to understand your mother's reasoning, but I know she believes that the Syrrannites somehow hold the key to saving Vulcan from war with the Andorians. If I could find her myself, I would, but I am at least technically still a member of the government – and, I believe, being rather closely watched."

"I would surely be watched closely as well."

"Yes, but you could be more easily inserted surreptitiously. They do not necessarily expect you to return."

She turned and walked to the window before turning back to him. "I may not be up to the rigors of the Forge after three years in Earth-like conditions." She hesitated. "I have some health issues."

He did not bother to hide the disappointment from his tone as he said, "You've changed."

She didn't protest. It was true.

Soval added, "If by health concerns you refer to your diagnosis of Pa'nar Syndrome, those who could cure you of it are precisely the people your mother has joined – the Syrrannites."

"There is no cure for Pa'nar Syndrome."

"A myth promulgated by the High Command. Just as they would have you believe that mind melding is rare and degenerate. Who knows how many suffer needlessly in silence because of this lie?"

She stared at him in surprise. "How can you know this?"

"I am myself a melder, as was my wife, as are two of my closest colleagues, and your mother – as are all Syrranites and V'tosh Ka'tur, as well as a number of priests I have consulted with. Do you not find that level of incidence striking? Like the V'tosh Ka'Tur, the Syrrannites believe that _all _Vulcans have the ability."

This was intriguing. It could even explain her unfortunate urges, perhaps. It didn't change her situation significantly, however. "That is not my only health issue. I was exposed to Trellium-D in the Expanse…"

"I read those reports. I don't see how that can still be significant."

She felt herself flush. "My exposure was somewhat more extended than the reports indicated. It has left my emotional control compromised."

"Yet I see little indication of that."

"Even at this moment I am experiencing a significant degree of distracting anxiety."

"It is not easily apparent," Soval said. "And if that is not the essence of self-control, I am not sure what is. Perhaps I can assist you. What are you anxious about?"

She returned to her window and stared down at the planet. Soval had entrusted her with a dangerous secret about himself, and she had never known him to employ guile against her. Perhaps he _could_ help her. "Commander Tucker's continued well-being."

Now he sounded amused. "T'Pol. It is hardly uncommon to experience some anxiety upon separation from one's mate, especially early in a bond."

"I experience a distracting degree of anxiety if he so much as leaves the room."

Soval tilted his head and looked as if he was considering the matter. "Do you suspect any weakness in his bond with you? He is Human, after all."

"No. I..." She stopped. "I simply fear that he will not return. That he will not be _able_ to return." Yes, it was perhaps that simple. If Trip left her sight, he might never return. Or worse. "He could die."

That earned her a rather severe look. "Commander Tucker _will _die. Indeed, all of us will die. You have chosen a mate whose life span is likely to be much shorter than yours. Perhaps this explains your heightened concern."

"I do not believe that it is so much shorter that his desire to go and obtain a hot beverage from the mess hall should so greatly alarm me."

His eyebrow rose and he regarded her for some time before he spoke. "Ordinarily I would refer you to a healer or a priest for an issue troubling a mate bond; however, I don't believe you should trust any healers in the employ of the High Command. It is possible the Syrrannites could help you." He frowned again. "Not that they are likely to sympathize with your choice of a bond mate. Still, this simply gives you more reason to seek out your mother."

"You don't understand, Soval. I can't leave him."

"Then take him with you."

"You suggest I seek help with my fear that the Commander will die by taking him to the one place on Vulcan where he is all but _certain_ to die?"

"No. I suggest that you still owe your mother and your people this duty. If you can get help with your Pa'nar Syndrome and resolve the issues in your bond at the same time, those would merely be side benefits."

Apparently he considered Trip expendable as long as her 'duty' was met. Was it because Trip was Human? What about her duty to her mate? "Is there anything else, Ambassador?" T'Pol asked icily.

"No, there is nothing else," he said heavily, and left.

x x x

Phlox demanded privacy for his examination of Bethany, so Trip escorted Russ to the conference room, where Jon and Forrest and Harris and Ramirez were already apparently in the midst of discussion.

When they walked in the room the room fell silent and the four men looked up.

"Where's T'Pol?" Trip asked, realizing even as he asked that Soval was not there either – and suddenly quite certain by the peculiar clenching in his gut that wherever she was, T'Pol was upset.

"Glad you could join us, Sheriff," Jon said. "Have a seat." As MacReady sank down into a seat, Jon turned to Trip and said, "I didn't ask T'Pol and Soval to join us yet. I'd like you to, however."

"Sir." Trip wanted to tell him that he needed to go find his bond mate, but that was not only unprofessional but likely to embarrass the captain in front of this group, so he sat down.

Trip knew MacReady had been to _Enterprise_ once before, when he had required Phlox's medical attentions for a gunshot, but maybe there hadn't been time for a tour then, for he was staring wide-eyed at the view out the windows.

"Sheriff, we need to catch you upon some big changes with us since the last time we talked," Archer said, pulling Russ's attention back to him. "They have some pretty dramatic implications for your people."

Russ glanced at Trip, but Trip couldn't bring himself to offer anything more than a commiserating grimace. As if being in a spaceship didn't freak the man out enough, now he was about to get the news that his planet was about to be commandeered.

As Jon explained the situation, Trip became conscious that Harris – who was otherwise being completely silent and unobtrusive – was watching _him _at least as much as he was watching Russ. Annoyed, although he wasn't entirely sure why, he stared back at him.

Harris looked away, only to resume his monitoring a few moments later. And so it continued. Probably it meant nothing.

But the hairs on the back of his neck were telling him otherwise.

_**To be continued…**_

"


	21. Chapter 21

**Disclaimers, etc.** in chapter one.

**Author's Note: **Many apologies for the long delay here. I've somehow lost the knack of avoiding all my real life chores in order to do fanfic, but I have today off and figured I'd take advantage of it. It's a little short, but hopefully you'll prefer a little something to a whole lot of nothing. Many thanks as always, reviewers!

* * *

><p>When Phlox sent word that Bethany was ready to depart sickbay, Trip stood up quickly, intent on escape. Jon nodded his permission, so he escorted Russ out.<p>

The sheriff was quiet and clearly preoccupied as they walked along to the turbo-lift. He didn't even appear to be taking in his environment with any curiosity. "You all right?" Trip asked.

"You tell me," Russ said. "Is there any reason I _shouldn't_ think all hell is about to break loose?"

"Well… it's going to be a lot of change, all right," Trip said. "But most of it will be for the better. Better food, better health care, better education, better standard of living all round…"

"But none of it by our choice."

Trip grunted. "Earth had a democratic government. I don't think her survivors are going to willingly give up that tradition. We just need to get everyone settled in."

"Settled in _where?_" Russ growled. "All the best land is already _taken_."

"Your settlements are clustered in only a tiny portion of the planet," Trip said. "We know how to put colonies on lifeless planets without breathable atmospheres or natural water supplies, and we don't even have to worry about that here. It'll be fine."

He hoped like hell that was true.

They stopped in front of the doors into sickbay. Russ took a deep breath and straightened, visibly clearing his expression before they went in. "How's our patient, Doc?" he asked brightly, smiling at Bethany, who didn't return the smile.

She was, if possible, even paler than she had been on the planet. "Dr. Phlox here tells me I'm a Skag," she said, and scowled.

Trip winced. He'd never heard her use that term before, especially with that tone of hostility.

"I said you are _part _Skagaran," Phlox said. "One quarter, as it happens."

"How's the gunshot?" Russ asked Phlox.

The Denobulan waved his hand dismissively. "She'll be fine."

"Good," Russ said gruffly. "Ready to go home?"

"Home to where?" she said bitterly. "Skagtown?"

Russ regarded her for a moment, then turned to Phlox. "Would her Skagaran part cause any problem for her having a baby with me, assuming she wasn't completely opposed to the idea?"

Bethany's mouth fell open. Trip stared in surprise, too.

"None that I can foresee," Phlox said. "If it were difficult, there wouldn't be much, if any, evidence of interbreeding at all in this population, but there's been quite a bit of it, based on what I've seen so far."

"Good to know," Russ said. "You ready?" he asked Bethany.

"For _a baby_?" she squeaked.

"No, for going home," Russ said. "I think anything else would require a little more privacy than we've got at the moment."

She just stared at him, clearly a bit dazed.

Trip grinned. "Come on, then," he said.

x x x

Trip cleared his departure with Malcolm, who was in command on the bridge. Russ's comments about privacy had gotten him thinking, especially since he had a sense that wherever T'Pol was, she was still riled up, so he called her, too. "I'm ferrying Russ and Bethany down to the planet," he said. "Want to come along?"

There was silence on the other end. Probably the request did not strike her as an efficient use of two senior officers' time.

"I'd enjoy having some company on the ride back," he added.

"I'll meet you in the shuttle bay," she said.

x x x

North Star's dun-colored planetscape filled the shuttle pod's front viewport. It was a monotonous desert compared to the sparkling jewel of a planet Humanity had evolved on. But that no longer existed, and Trip supposed there was little point now in comparing them. He thought about asking T'Pol if this planet reminded her of Vulcan, but decided she'd probably had more than enough reminders of her home today. He was burning to ask about her mother and Soval, but knew it must wait until they were alone.

He didn't look back to where Russ and Bethany were sitting, but he heard no conversation. The shuttle pod could use a rear-view mirror for the passenger compartment, he decided, although in this case the only good reason for it was his own nosiness. Immediately behind him, T'Pol offered only the normal reports that would come from someone manning sensors.

He flew in over Main Street. It would probably not look like this for much longer, would it? Unless, perhaps, the powers that be decided to preserve this as a sort of heritage zone: _See where the planet's first Humans lived! _

_The powers that be…_ He wasn't used to thinking that way. Just what gave Harris and Forrest the right to decide what would become of these people and their town, anyway? And how could they be so certain their decisions would be the best ones?

He set the pod down next to Bethany's rooming house, and stood up.

Russ got up and offered his hand to Bethany to help her rise to her feet. "We're not going to say a word about any of this – right?" Russ said. Perhaps it was meant for all of them, but he was looking at Bethany.

She looked sharply at him. "Which part of it?"

"The Skagaran part of it."

Her lips pursed. "I've never been much of one for keeping secrets."

"Humor me, then," he said. "I've never seen much point in borrowing trouble."

"There's no need for either of you to rush into anything," Trip said to both of them, and grinned. "Unless, of course, you really want to!" He saw them out, then closed the hatch behind them and regarded T'Pol where she still sat.

"Their relationship appears to have encountered some changes," she observed.

"Phlox told Bethany she was part-Skagaran, and all Russ wanted to know was whether it would prevent them from having babies."

T'Pol raised an eyebrow.

Russ hadn't seemed rocked in the slightest by the news. Perhaps she was already such a Skagaran-sympathizer that it hardly mattered. Or perhaps he was just in love.

Would he and T'Pol ever be able to have a baby? That seemed a lot less likely, at least not without an awful lot of high-tech interference. Skagarans at least bled the same color Humans did.

Well, whatever. Maybe they could adopt.

"What happened with Soval?" he asked.

T'Pol glanced at the pilot's seat but, for once, forbore from reminding him that they should be on their way back to _Enterprise. _"He told me that my mother has joined a dissident group known as the Syrrannites. They believe that Surak's teachings have been misinterpreted over time and that we need to return to his original text, which is – perhaps conveniently – nowhere to be found. Soval seems to believe that it is because of this affiliation that the High Command recently accused my mother of stealing classified information and moved to arrest her. Like other known Syrrannites, she went into hiding." She removed a necklace she had tucked under her uniform top and handed it to him. "This is a map. He says she gave it to him – and that she wants me to find her."

He fiddled with the odd piece of jewelry until a complicated holographic image arose from it, notated with unreadable Vulcan text. "And will you?" he asked, with a tightening of his chest.

"I am not eager to do so. You yourself have remarked that I have great difficulty in parting from you."

"Yes," he said. As unnatural and even alarming as her uncharacteristic dependence was, he had gained certain benefits from it, such as the general impression that his girlfriend wasn't going to up and abandon him anytime soon.

"Soval also told me that my mother believes that the Syrrannites have information that could stop the war with Andoria."

He breathed in sharply. That raised this to a whole other level. "Do you believe him?"

"He has never lied to me before."

"Doesn't mean he's not doing it now."

"I know."

Trip knew where this was going. What was their little speck of a romance next to the possibility of preventing an intergalactic war? _The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few_ and all that. He sighed and sat down in the pilot's seat. "You're going to go?"

She was silent for a moment. "No."

He blinked. He hadn't expected that answer.

T'Pol turned her attention to the sensor panel. "Perhaps we should return."

He turned around and ran through the checklist for launch, a fast and mindless routine, especially with T'Pol on board to help.

He should be relieved, shouldn't he? She was staying with him!

But he wasn't relieved.

This was all wrong.

* * *

><p><strong>To be continued...<strong>


	22. Chapter 22

**Disclaimers, etc.** in Chapter One

**Author's Note:** You were probably wondering if you'd ever see another chapter of this one, eh? It's true, I've been less than motivated on the fanfic front lately. However, I hate to leave tasks unfinished, so I figured it was past time to get another chapter written. Many thanks as always, reviewers.

* * *

><p>Soval was somehow not surprised when Mr. Harris appeared at his door that night. "May we speak?" the man asked.<p>

He stepped back to allow him into his guest quarters on _Enterprise_. He'd already set up a dampening field in the hope of blocking any long-range surveillance from the _Nyran_. Of course, one could never be certain of success in such measures; Captain Tavek was no stranger to intelligence, and his own aides in the adjoining room would no doubt note that he was having a late-night visit from one of the Humans.

Harris had walked in and sized up his environs with casual efficiency. Yes, definitely an intelligence professional. Apparently satisfied that no immediate threats lurked, he said, "I believe you and I may share some concerns about current situation on Vulcan."

"Indeed?" Soval said. "Would you care for some tea?"

x x x

"Are you _sure _you don't want to go to your mother?" Trip asked, late that night in T'Pol's cabin, after they had celebrated being together in a way that, while very pleasant, had struck him as just slightly desperate on her part. They were still lying entangled on her bunk. In his experience, this was when she was at her most unguarded.

Her voice was so tight, though, that he suspected he'd just managed to obliterate that. "I do not lightly ignore my mother's request. I simply cannot fulfill it."

"Look, if what's stopping you is fear of leaving me behind, I'll make it easy for you. I'll go with you." He had been wrestling with the idea ever since she'd surprised him earlier with her refusal to go. Not that he wanted to leave North Star at a time like this, but he had obligations to her as well as to his own people. "I've never met your mother. I've never seen your home planet. Seems to me it's the least I could do."

There was also that part about possibly preventing a war.

She sat up and lowered her legs to the floor, pulling away in more ways than one. "My mother is hiding in The Forge. It is the most dangerous desert on a desert planet. Soval also believes I should travel in secret. That would be much more difficult with a Human companion."

"Phlox could probably give me something that would help me with the climate," Trip mused, carefully not rising himself. It was his best bet if he wanted her to settle down with him again. "As far as being Human, I could just … I dunno … hide the ears. You do it all the time."

"And speak fluent, logical Vulcan?"

_That _wasn't going to happen. "So I'll let you do the talking."

"Vulcan is not just dry and hot – there is less oxygen in its atmosphere. Our gravity is higher, so more exertion is required. It can be a dangerous, even deadly, combination for susceptible Humans. We would be without access to emergency care."

"I've survived low-oxygen environments without too much trouble before." This was perhaps stretching the truth. The environment on Ah'Len's ship had certainly thrown him off his game until he'd rested and adjusted. "I'm tougher than you think I am."

Her tone was definitive. "It is not worth the risk."

Convenient as that might be for his own comfort, he couldn't help reflecting that she seemed to doubt he could so much as survive a rigorous hike on her home planet. While it was true that he disliked deserts, and two dangerous episodes of heat stroke had only reinforced that, it was also true that he hadn't had any chance to prepare properly in either of those cases.

Or was that the only risk she was thinking of? "Whatever happened to Koss, anyway?" he asked. "Did he get married?"

She visibly stiffened. "The last time I heard from my mother, he had not."

And her mother, clearly, had taken care to keep her informed of that. "So would your people try to interfere with our relationship?"

She didn't speak immediately, which just confirmed his concerns. Finally, she said, "I doubt they would approve. Whether that would rise to the level of interference, I don't know. But they wouldn't need to interfere if you died from heat stroke or oxygen deprivation, or worse." Her voice darkened on that last word, and his ears pricked up.

"Worse?"

"The Forge is rife with natural hazards, including dangerous predators. Also… " Her volume lowered and she spoke so quickly it was almost hard to keep up with her. "Vulcans have certain ancient customs regarding marriage that could potentially pose a hazard."

She was going to force him to drag it out of her. "Such as?"

This time she got all the way off the bunk and walked to the window. "Koss's parents could conceivably demand that I fulfill our betrothal. That would force me to either agree, or choose a champion in a duel to the death and become the property of the victor. Given the conditions on the planet, you would be no match for Koss or any other Vulcan male."

Trip stared at her. This from a people who thought it was barbaric to eat with their hands? "That doesn't sound very civilized." It also didn't make him feel terribly manly – did she really think he couldn't win a fair fight against _any_ _Vulcan?_ Koss was an _architect_. Not that Trip was eager to kill him or anyone just for the privilege of marrying the woman he loved.

"It isn't civilized. And like much associated with Vulcan mating, it is not discussed openly, especially with non-Vulcans."

"Okay," Trip said, tucking that away as a reminder to keep his big mouth shut. "So … why don't we just get married before we go? Make it a done deal?" Belatedly, it occurred to him that this wasn't the most romantic marriage proposal of all time.

She merely raised an eyebrow. "That would be gravely insulting to my mother, and might not be recognized on Vulcan in any case."

If Trip had had high expectations about her answer he would have been sorely disappointed by how quickly she dismissed the idea, but he knew her and therefore hadn't had high expectations.

If what she was saying was true, it was clear that staying put posed the lowest risk to his life and their relationship. But of course that wasn't the only reason to go. "If it can prevent a war, T'Pol?"

"That seems unlikely," she said, but her tone was noticeably less certain.

He could tell she was frustrated at what she perceived as the need to stay to protect him and them – and perhaps she was also getting frustrated that she simply couldn't be without him. Meanwhile, her lack of confidence in his chances wounded him a bit. A man liked to think he had more going for him in his woman's eyes. He got up himself and started pulling on his uniform.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going to get a cup of coffee and do a little work. I need to … work off some energy."

She stared wide-eyed at him; barely-suppressed panic stabbed through the bond.

He'd just never thought of T'Pol as someone who was going to need constant reassurance. "Don't worry, I'll be back before long." The damned bond was no doubt giving away just how annoyed he was feeling at being considered too weak to survive an adventure on Vulcan.

He zipped up his uniform and slipped into his boots and turned to regard her. It occurred to him that he could simply tell her he was going to Vulcan, and it was up to her to decide whether she wanted to come along. She'd have no choice, then.

But the more worrying issue here was that she was so messed up that she freaked out if he left the room.

"Actually, I think I'm going to go talk to Phlox instead," he said. "I'm worried about you. You were never like this before."

"He won't know how to help."

"Maybe he could consult with the doctor on the _Nyran_."

"Soval suggested I not trust any of the High Command's healers."

"Then maybe we need to go to Vulcan so you can consult with someone you _can_ trust."

"I wouldn't trust _any_ Vulcan to understand my bond with you," she said, and her bitterness about that came through clearly in her voice, never mind the bond.

"Look, you can't just turn your back on who you are and where you come from," Trip said. "I'd give anything to still have a chance for my parents to meet you. You're the only one on this ship who has any family left, T'Pol. That's not something to throw away lightly."

"I don't throw it away lightly!"

"You don't have to throw it away _at all,"_ he said. "What you have to do is _trust me_."

x x x

There was a buzz at another cabin door.

Groaning, Jon rolled out of bed and pulled on a pair of sweats. Over in his own bed, Porthos raised his nose but didn't even bother to wag his tail. "Yes?" Jon asked, squinting at someone he hadn't expected to see at his door: Harris.

"We need to talk, Captain," the man said.

Jon blinked, unable to come up with any good reason to tell the man to go away, and stood aside to let him in. "What do we need to talk about?" He knew that Forrest relied on the man, though he seemed to do so somewhat warily.

"Your first officer," Harris said. "We need you to send her to Vulcan."

Harris explained the situation in detail and Jon listened, becoming increasingly concerned. If indeed there was the possibility of hostile alien interference in Vulcan's affairs, this could have dire results for Humans, who were more dependent on Vulcan aid than ever.

While he listened, though, another idea took hold: this was just the sort of mission that would suit him right now. He was no engineer, and the grunt work of setting up a sustainable new civilization on North Star better suited someone like Trip, who already had good relations with the natives. Jon could watch T'Pol's back and make sure her perennial caution didn't prevent them from getting the job done.

And maybe it would be a bit of a breather from the constant reminders of how he had failed to save Earth. It wouldn't be that vacation he'd fantasized about, of course, but at least it would be a change of pace. And hell, after all those months on a frigid Andorian ship, a desert planet sounded damned appealing.

"All right," he said. "You've convinced me. But I want to go with her."

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	23. Chapter 23

**Disclaimers, etc.:** In chapter one.

**Author's Note: **Sorry again. I seem to have spent my break between semesters on anything but writing, though I did keep nibbling away at this and feel I finally have enough to give you another chapter. Thanks as always to my ever-patient reviewers.

* * *

><p>Trip said, <em>"What?"<em>

Archer stopped his slow pacing in front of the windows of his quarters and glanced apprehensively at T'Pol before saying, "What part of it did you not understand?"

"You want to send T'Pol to Vulcan and you think I'm going to just stay _here _while _you _go off with her?"

"It's pretty simple, Trip. You're the best man for the job here. You're _not_ the best man for the job _there._ I would think you've had enough trouble on desert planets to convince you of that."

Trip shot a warning look at T'Pol – if she joined in with Archer on that he was going to go ballistic. Fortunately she kept her doubts to herself, at least for the moment. Her dislike of the captain's proposal – something Trip could pick up just from her expression - probably helped. He said, "I've already discussed this with Phlox. With proper preparation, he believes I could handle the conditions on Vulcan just fine."

Jon looked nonplussed, probably at the idea that Trip had already been investigating the matter. "You can't always be as prepared as you'd like on a mission like this. I think we've established that I'm going to do a little better than you in extreme conditions. This mission is important, Trip."

Trip shot back, "And getting North Star up and running isn't?"

"Yes, it is, but that's another argument for you staying. You've already got rapport with the Humans down there. And the engineering expertise. You don't need me here."

"Bull," Trip said. "You're just trying to duck and run."

A terrible silence fell.

Trip decided he might as well say it all. "You went off with Shran and left this crew on its own, and now you want to run off to Vulcan. Maybe you don't like being reminded of your failures … or maybe you're having trouble with your own losses, I don't know. But it's not fair to this crew. They need you to be their captain now." He was a little surprised to realize that this was in fact the truth as he saw it.

Archer stared back at him unflinching, though his face had drained of color. After a few moments he said, in a quiet, dangerous voice, "Is that your only objection to this plan?"

"No."

"Captain…" T'Pol said.

"I don't want to hear it, T'Pol," Archer said. He turned to her. "I believe you have a mission to go prepare for."

She frowned at him, then glanced at Trip, who nodded slightly to let her know she should leave.

"What is this really about, Trip?" Archer said, as he squatted down to pet Porthos. "I don't have any designs on T'Pol, if that's what you're worried about."

"If you really knew anything about Vulcans, you'd know I don't need to worry about that."

Jon's face darkened. "So you're also claiming superior expertise with Vulcans."

"Yes, but that's not the only reason you should send me." He enunciated his next words carefully. "If you stick to this, we're done. You and me."

Archer looked away, jaw clenched, chin jutting. "Are you sure we're not done already?"

"I didn't think we were," Trip said, suddenly realizing the profound loss he faced. Except for T'Pol and perhaps Malcolm, this man was the closest thing to family he had left. "I knew we'd hit a patch of tension – that's nothing new – but I figured it would work out eventually. But this … this would be the end of it."

Archer kept his attention on Porthos. "Would you leave _Enterprise_?"

"I don't know." He hadn't had time to think that out yet. "Starfleet's pretty much a figment of our imagination anyway, now, isn't it? The only thing I know for certain anymore is that I have to be with _her_." He heard his own voice crack just slightly.

Archer finally looked up at him. "I'll think about it. Dismissed."

Trip didn't move at first. His instincts were telling him not to give ground. But then he saw the captain's eyes harden, and realized that leaving would leave him with more options than being thrown in the brig would.

As he entered the turbolift, he decided that he'd better make his own preparations, just in case. Jon struck him as pretty rattled by his declaration, but there was no predicting when he might decide to be pigheaded.

x x x

The cabin's door buzzed with a long, insistent signal.

Soval said, "Excuse me," and rose from his chair.

Harris also rose. Soval noted that his hand hovered close to a pocket. So the man went about armed. That was perhaps to be expected, if somewhat lacking in finesse.

"Someone's certainly eager to see you," Harris observed, when the buzzer buzzed again.

Soval opened the door to a grim-looking Commander Tucker. "I need to talk to you," the engineer said, already stepping forward, before he caught sight of Harris and stopped, blanching. "But I'll come back later."

"No, no, come in, Commander," Harris said. "Did Captain Archer make his proposal?"

"Yes," the engineer said, between clenched jaws.

"And will she go?" Harris said.

"Not without me."

"I see." Harris smiled without warmth and looked at Soval.

"Perhaps it would be better if I spoke to Commander Tucker alone," Soval said.

"Very well," Harris said, and brushed past the Human so closely that Soval could only assume he was either picking the man's pocket or indulging in some sort of masculine struggle for dominance.

"I wasn't sure I could trust you, Ambassador," Tucker said, once the door had closed. "And now I'm _really _not sure."

"That problem is mutual," Soval said. Tucker scowled, and Soval reflected that he certainly wasn't behaving like good material for an undercover mission on Vulcan."I believe you needed to speak with me?" Soval prompted him.

"I'm going to Vulcan with her, one way or the other. I'd prefer we survive the experience, if possible."

"If you must go, stay in Shi'Kahr, in the areas where aliens congregate. Aid is always at hand."

"You know quite well that I can't stay there. We have to find her mother."

"That would not be wise for _you_. T'Pol is equipped to handle the Forge. You are not. Indeed, you would probably materially reduce _her_ chances of surviving the attempt."

Tucker swallowed. "That would apply to the captain just as much as to me."

"Indeed. Mr. Harris has informed me of his insistence on going, but it strikes me as folly."

The young man licked his lips. They would quickly become chapped if he did that on Vulcan, but Soval saw little point in telling him so. Tucker said, "Phlox feels I can manage it with adequate water and tri-ox compound. But how do we even get there without being seen, or followed?"

Lack of adequate water was what what _defined_ the Forge_,_ Soval thought, and simply regarded the man in silence. In his experience, Humans were very easily discomfited when you made them wait.

Tucker, however, simply regarded him back.

He did seem to intend to persist in this insane quest. And persistence could make up for a great many natural shortcomings, in Soval's experience. "I require your thoughts," he said. "I must determine whether you can be trusted."

Tucker looked wary. "Are you talking about a…"

"… mind meld? Yes."

"I'm not sure I'm okay with that."

"Then I believe the Human expression would be, 'have a good day'."

Tucker grimaced. "I take it you don't have Pa'nar Syndrome?"

"I do not."

"All right, then," Tucker said, though his tone was still obviously reluctant. "If that's what it takes…."

Soval considered accepting Tucker's willingness as _prima facie_ evidence that he could be trusted. He would just as soon avoid a meld with any Human. But then he considered that, in his experience, beings of all kinds – including Vulcans – generally kept their concerns about their own shortcomings buried fairly deeply. Tucker himself would already know, he suspected, whether he was truly up to the task at hand, and simply might not be allowing himself to acknowledge it.

Then there was the reality that mind melds were often more efficient for transmitting vital information than talking would ever be – and also more private.

"This will be easier it you can relax," he murmured. "I would suggest closing your eyes."

Tucker straightened, hands balled into fists on either side, then appeared to consciously relax them. He closed his eyes and began to breathe intentionally in a pattern Soval recognized as pre-meditative. Interesting. He approached, raising his hand to the touch points and adjusting them as he felt for the threads of Tucker's consciousness. "My mind to your mind…"

Yes, _there_…

Tucker reared back, eyes wide.

"You've never done this," Soval said. No wonder their bond was troubled.

"No."

"I will not harm you," he said. "It will be an unusual sensation, but not painful."

"How do I know you won't…" Tucker waved his hand about. "…Go where you don't belong?"

"If I appear to be doing that, you can tell me to stop. To be frank, Commander, there's little point in taking Vulcan survival tips from someone you can't trust. Shall I try again, or do you wish to end this conversation?"

Tucker bit his lip. "Better try again," he said.

x x x

Hoshi only noticed it because an annoying interference pattern had prompted her to run a diagnostic on the sensor channels, but it was unmistakable. Someone had woven a covert comm. signal into the regular data traffic between the ship's forward sensors and the main computer.

She was working to pinpoint everyone who might have access to it when it ended.

She reran the data, carefully isolating the signal. It was encrypted, and not with any standard Starfleet encryption code, either.

"Hoshi?" Malcolm, who was in command, had apparently noticed her focus and come up behind her.

"Someone has just sent an encrypted message to this ship through unusual channels," she said softly.

He bent down, softening his own voice to match her. "Who?"

"I don't know."

"Has it has been received?"

She shook her head. "I have no way of knowing. Virtually everyone in operations, science and tactical has access to this data stream on an ongoing basis. It's been rather ingeniously buried in the usual data. You'd have to shut down half of normal ship functions to isolate it – including navigation."

He frowned. "Maybe it's just some kind of communication with the admiral," though he sounded doubtful. "Do you know what it says?"

"No... not yet. It doesn't look impossible to break, however." Not for her. "Should I notify the captain?"

"There's nothing particularly useful to tell him yet. See if you can decode it first."

She nodded and programmed her station to look out for any further buried messages so she could focus on code-breaking, something she sometimes did just to relax - and quickly decided that it was much more relaxing when she knew it was a game.

Malcolm had sat himself back down in the captain's chair. As usual, on duty he was all business. She, on the other hand, had been helplessly taking in the heat of his body behind her, the faint patchouli musk of his soap mixed with his essential Malcolm-ness. She had begun to wonder if he'd ever leave that unique combination of scents behind in her quarters again.

She sighed. Forget it, she told herself. She had a more immediate mystery at hand.

* * *

><p><em>To be continued<em>


	24. Chapter 24

**Disclaimers, etc.:** In chapter one.

**Author's Note: **I've gotten terribly remiss about attending to this story. My apologies. I don't like deserts anymore than Trip does, so I think I'm procrastinating getting to Vulcan. Many thanks to my reviewers (and to anyone who can still remember what's going on).

* * *

><p>This time when Malcolm looked over towards Hoshi's station she was not bent over her work, but looking back at him expectantly.<p>

He went to her side and she silently handed him a padd.

He read: _Harry restless, Angel in over her head. Prince spending freely, talking to Vern. Vern bloody-minded._ _Sis, Sparky at risk. Harry, too. Time to get the hell out of Dodge._

Hoshi murmured, "Don't suppose that's just the worst poem ever written?"

Malcolm smirked at that idea even as he calculated what it was really saying. It probably wouldn't mystify any Vulcan intelligence agents who came across it for long, but then again it probably wouldn't be telling them anything they wouldn't already know. "Travis, you're in charge," he said. "Come with me," he told Hoshi. "We need to talk to the captain."

What he was about to do might once have put both Hoshi and the captain at great risk of a life neither would want, but to his mind there wasn't really an option anymore.

And those other lives were long gone anyway.

x x x

If Trip didn't think about it too hard, having a cranky old Vulcan in his mind instead of just in the room with him wasn't really that awful. If he stopped and considered just what was going on, though, he started to get a little nauseated.

_Then I suggest you _don't _stop and consider_ it.

_Easier said than done_.

_You can control _far_ more in here than you can out there. _The thought was accompanied by a surprisingly plaintive wistfulness.

Soval's voice was still a 'voice,' though it wasn't exactly the same as it was outside his head – it sounded a little lower, sort of like the difference between how Trip heard his own voice while talking versus what it sounded like on recordings. But the Vulcan's presence was oddly less intimidating this way. Perhaps it was because of the constant stream of emotion washing through at the same time.

Like ... embarrassment. At being caught so plainly feeling.

_You don't like having to share your emotions with some stranger_.

_Of course not._ Soval's tone was as waspish as ever, but Trip also detected a flash of gratitude at being understood in that regard.

_Perhaps we could focus on the matter at hand?_

_Right. Go for it._

After a moment's irritation from Soval at the casual phraseology – and matching irritation from Trip that a Vulcan would get prissy over his _English_ – they both refocused. _This is the Forge,_ Soval intoned, and suddenly Trip was being blasted by fierce heat and wind in a bleak, imposing landscape of jagged stone heights and barren, sandy canyons.

Trip turned to survey these new surroundings, appalled by the conditions but also curious. _So this is Vulcan._

_This is the _worst desert_ on Vulcan, _Soval corrected him._ And this is how _I, _a Vulcan, have experienced it. As a Human you would perceive significantly greater heat, a drier atmosphere, less oxygen, higher gravity._

Worse than _this?_

How the hell was he supposed to survive something like this for any length of time?

_Exactly._

_But I have to, _Trip reminded himself, and an image of T'Pol suddenly joined him, staring out at the landscape with an expression as fierce and implacable as the Forge itself. He knew she was not real – he did not even attempt to greet her – but she belonged here nonetheless, because it was absurd to imagine himself here without her.

Just as it was terrible to imagine her here without _him._

_You have great admiration for your mate,_ Soval observed.

_Of course. She is magnificent.  
><em>

Soval's wistfulness arose again, and the desert suddenly dissolved into the courtyard of a home, where a young Vulcan woman Trip did not recognize sat in meditation.

_Your mate?_

_She who was my wife. _

_I'm sorry._

Soval's immediate reaction was visceral: _You can know nothing of my loss! _But that was immediately tempered. _Except that it would seem now you do. Let us refocus our efforts._

_You have to teach me how to survive your planet. _

_Your survival seems unlikely no matter what I teach you. But since you are willing to die for her… let us begin in Shi'Kahr._

x x x

Hoshi stared in shock at her … what? Boyfriend? Lover? Shipmate with benefits?

Spy for a highly-secret organization carefully embedded on Humanity's first ship of exploration?

In explaining his background to her and to the captain, Malcolm had claimed he was no longer active – that he had left that all behind.

But does anyone ever truly leave that kind of job behind?

Now it all made sense. No wonder he was so hard to get to know.

"Can we trust Harris?" Archer wanted to know. He didn't seem particularly rattled or surprised. Perhaps as captain he was privy to more intelligence than Hoshi knew.

Malcolm grimaced. "To have mankind's best interests in mind? Yes. To choose the better path? Not at all. He'll do _anything_ to get the end result he wants … I think he actually takes great pride in it." A look of profound distaste flitted across his face and was gone.

And if he _knew_ this about Harris, that must mean…

Hoshi took a tiny step back.

Malcolm turned his eyes towards her for a moment, assessing. Then he turned away and straightened up into a stiff parade rest.

"Do you know what this message means?" Archer asked, looking down at the padd Malcolm had handed him.

"V'Las is preparing for war, and apparently the human refugees are at risk in some way. I don't know who this Prince is – possibly this Paxton fellow they've already mentioned to us. If so, he's spending money freely and talking secretly to V'Las."

"How could he have any money?" Archer said. "Earth's credit is worthless, and the moon was destroyed, too."

"People like Paxton often keep some of their funds elsewhere, for diversification or to avoid taxes. In recent years some of our wealthier citizens have maintained fairly extensive interests on Rigel, which has a highly secretive banking sector. Paxton has been known to make frequent trips there."

At Hoshi's look, he said, "I checked him out after Admiral Forrest mentioned him."

"Good. The more we know, the better," Archer said. "So he has money to throw around – in fact, he may be the only Human left who can." He looked down at the padd. "And these other folks? Sis? Sparky? Angel?"

"I'm not sure, sir. Angel _might_ be our ambassador – she'd be the one in charge of trying to keep our refugees in order. Perhaps she's not having much luck."

"And whoever sent this feels we need to get our people off the planet now."

"Yes."

"We're not ready for a huge influx of people yet," Archer said. "Especially if we can't count on ongoing help from Vulcan and Andoria. It seems to me it's a higher priority to stop this war."

"Stop it _how_?" Hoshi asked.

The captain looked over at her, blinking a little, as if perhaps he'd forgotten she was there. "That's impossible to say from here. That's why I need to go there and see what can be done." He sighed and sat down at his desk and picked up a stylus that he twisted about in his hand. "But that presents some other issues."

"We need to make the planet ready for our refugees as soon as possible in any case," Malcolm reminded him.

"I know." Archer sighed unhappily, which puzzled Hoshi. After all, he had been pushing hard on this need ever since they'd reconnected – in fact, he had struck her as quite frustrated with T'Pol and Trip's conservative progress thus far. "Dismissed."

She exited with Malcolm, who proceeded briskly down the corridor without as much as a glance at her.

"Malcolm," she said, hurrying to keep up with him.

He reached the turbolift and punched the button.

"Talk to me," she said.

"About?" he asked, his voice high and false. The turbolift doors opened and they stepped in.

"Why didn't you ever say anything about this?"

"It didn't come up."

She scowled at him. "I distinctly remember asking you to tell me about your past life on at least three separate occasions. I never got anything but Academy training stories and an Eagle Scout project."

He stopped the turbolift and turned rather hotly to her. "Look, I could hardly tell you I worked for an organization nobody is even supposed to know about. I'm not comfortable that I had to let you know about it _now_, but I didn't see any way around it." He swallowed. "Sometimes it's safer not to know."

"What does that mean? If you'd told me you'd have had to kill me?"

He raised his eyebrows as if that was actually a possibility.

She felt a chill, and then, in its wake, a much stronger skepticism. "I don't believe that for a minute. You would have known you could trust me. Besides, we didn't even start this relationship until recently. All that old stuff can hardly matter _now_."

"I'm not so sure. Harris is still here, isn't he? Besides, it matters to _me._ And I see no good reason to inflict it on anyone else."

No good reason? What about sharing a life with someone? What about _trusting your partner? _

She frowned and fell silent.

Nothing was ever really going to change between them, was it?

How could he ever be anything more than an agreeable stranger in her bed?

x x x

Trip buzzed T'Pol's quarters as a courtesy before letting himself in.

She was sitting in meditation.

"Cap'n told you to get ready, didn't he?"

"I am getting ready."

He grinned. "Yeah, I guess you are. So… I just had a nice long mind meld with Soval."

She immediately stood up and approached him, staring in concern.

Trip added, "He doesn't expect us to succeed, but he agrees that it's worth trying."

"Doesn't expect us to succeed at what?"

"Oh, everything." Trip waved his arm about. "Surviving the Forge, finding your mom, stopping the war, staying alive, having a long and prosperous bond … but then I get the feeling he's a glass-half-empty kind of guy by nature."

"I believe he does tend towards a negative view of most eventualities. Then you are indeed accompanying me? What about the captain?"

"Soval said he would take care of that. We need to get ready to go. Warm clothes for an Andorian vessel, and desert protection for Vulcan."

She raised an interested eyebrow. "When do we depart?"

"As soon as the _Kumari_ has authorization to go."

"Then I had better pack."

"Yep, me too," he said. But instead of departing he reached out for her, tugging her closer and whispering into her ear, "I can't wait until I can share a mind meld with you."

She breathed in – clearly, the idea interested her. "It wouldn't be safe for you."

"Soval is certain you could be cured. It would be safe then. That's something to look forward to out of all this mess, don't you think?" Holding her close, he ran his tongue over her ear. "Talk about being _intimate_." As remembered quite helplessly by Soval when Trip had inquired, it appeared that a mind meld with one's beloved mate could be superior – and also highly complementary – to anything else they could do together.

She arched her neck, baring more of her ear to his attentions. "That … might be agreeable."

"_Might_ be?"

"I am not certain it will be preferable to what we already do," she growled, and launched herself at him.

He pulled her in tight and dueled tongue to tongue with her, quickly trading one sense of urgency for another.

Packing could wait.

**To be continued…**


	25. Chapter 25

**Disclaimers, etc.:** In chapter one.

**Author's Note: **Sorry for the continuing delays. I've been focused on launching my real life fiction career via Sheer Hubris Press (see my profile by clicking on my author name if you want to learn more). Anyway, here's one last little moment of sweetness before we're off to Vulcan and mayhem. Many thanks as always, reviewers!

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><p>When Trip came through the door into a conference room that contained more people than he'd expected, the captain looked up and said, "Good morning, Trip. I assume you'll be pleased to hear that you're going to Vulcan."<p>

"I'm _very_ pleased, sir." He looked at Soval, curious if he'd managed that, but the Vulcan gave nothing away.

"And I'm going to stay here," Jon said. "We have a hell of lot to do to get this planet ready for our refugees."

Trip finally let go of the tension he'd been feeling ever since Archer had called him there without T'Pol, who was on duty on the bridge. Jon's delivery of the news had been a bit terse, but not hostile. Either he'd decided their friendship was worth keeping, or he'd come to see the logic of Trip going instead.

"So when do we leave?" he asked. He and T'Pol had already packed the night before. He'd even gone to Phlox to pick up the supply of hyposprays he might require to survive Vulcan.

Jon looked over at Shran and Soval, who were sitting on the same side of the table for once, opposite Forrest and Harris.

"The _Kumari_ is authorized to leave as soon as the _Nyran_ leaves," Shran said.

Soval said, "The _Nyran_ is authorized to leave as soon as the _Kumari_ leaves."

Silence fell.

Trip looked from one to the other in disbelief. "So …why don't they both just agree to leave at the same time?"

Soval said, "Captain Tavek has orders to verify the _Kumari_'s departure and continued course. We can also assume the crew of the _Nyran_ will notice if a Vulcan life sign suddenly appears on an Andorian ship."

Harris said, "Worst case, they'll assume it's a kidnapping and commence hostile action. Best case, they'll learn that T'Pol has left the ship. You must understand, Commander, that she will be of interest to the High Command as a potential bargaining chip with her mother, or at least as someone who could potentially lead them to her mother and the other Syrranites."

Trip looked at Soval, who confirmed that analysis with a slight nod.

Didn't this mean T'Pol was already at risk? "What makes you so sure they aren't already privy to everything we're discussing right now?"

"They're not," Harris said confidently.

Soval frowned. "Precautions have been taken," he said. "But it is of course impossible to know with certainty. Such are the risks of any such undertaking."

Trip swallowed. If T'Pol was possibly in danger before they'd even left _Enterprise_, they were well and truly committed now. "Okay. So how the hell do we get to Vulcan?"

"We'll need a diversion," Forrest said.

"Malcolm is already working on it," Archer told Trip. "In the meantime … we've been invited to a wedding."

"A _wedding_?"

Jon grinned. "Russ and Bethany are getting married at 1400 hours _today. _Apparently they consider the matter urgent."

x x x

Russ stood in front of the simple altar and twisted his neck, trying to loosen the iron grip of his stiff collar without actually putting his finger up and yanking on the damned thing.

"Nervous?" Trip whispered. Russ had met the shuttle full of Enterprise crew – Trip and T'Pol at least in clothing suited to a church wedding, and the rest in their uniforms - and asked him if he'd be willing to stand up with him.

"Nope," he said. And he wasn't nervous at all. Not after last night. He just hated wearing a collar and tie. He'd wear them everyday if that's what it would take to keep Bethany happy, but thankfully she didn't strike him as likely to demand that.

Trip had asked him why the big rush as they walked to the church.

"Let's just say matters have developed rather quickly," Russ said. "And I believe in doing the right thing by a lady."

Trip had chuckled a little. "Phlox could have helped you out with that, but something tells me you're just fine with this."

"That I am." Russ hadn't been able to keep from grinning broadly. He'd noticed Trip's answering grin fade into wistfulness after they reached the altar and turned towards the congregation, where T'Pol was taking her own seat in a pew with the other _Enterprise_ guests. "Maybe we'll be doing this for you before too long," Russ said.

Trip's smile tightened. "Maybe."

There was another woman there he didn't recognize, a redhead wearing a regular Starfleet uniform. At least it didn't look like T'Pol's long underwear.

Bethany appeared silhouetted at the doorway, and Magnussen started up with a hymn on his fiddle and everyone in the pews stood up. Only after she'd made it about halfway in did he realize she was wearing a pretty green silk dress he'd never seen her in before. How'd she manage that, he wondered, until it occurred to him that the Widow Johnson had a dress pretty much exactly like it. She was walking down the aisle with Bethany, who'd lost her adoptive parents to the epidemic of '26.

And then Bethany was right there, smiling at him, and everything else in the room faded away.

x x x

Anna stood against the wall of the church hall, watching about a dozen men lead their partners around the room in an old fashioned waltz. It was being played by a motley group of musicians on an even more motley collection of small instruments. She could have rigged up just about anything they wanted to hear from the ship's database, but as the keyboard player in her high school's jazz band, she did appreciate hearing live music. She just would have appreciated it more if all the instruments were in tune.

The church lacked any keyboard instruments. Perhaps there were none on the planet. She could fabricate one as one of her little side projects. It was unthinkable that no Human would ever learn to play the piano again.

She shook her head a little. First things first, like making sure everyone got fed. As tiny as its population centers might be, it was clear the local population was having a hard time wringing their livelihood from it —and now they would be adding tens of thousands of Human refugees.

This was certainly a huge change from hiding out in the hydroponics lab. From time to time she felt panicked about it, as she had earlier today when the captain had asked her to come down for this weddng. "You need to establish good relations with the locals," he'd told her.

She hadn't said anything, reluctant to tell him just how horrified she was by the idea. Who showed up a two strangers' wedding just so she could conduct business? But Archer had seemed to read her mind. "Don't worry, Lieutenant," he'd said. "The bride and groom will understand."

After the ceremony, he'd introduced her to the happy couple, as well as some of the more prominent folks in the small town. The men had failed to hide their dismay that a _woman_ would be heading the agricultural project, and she'd found that just irritating enough to whet her appetite for the job. Now she saw Archer heading her way again, this time shepherding over a painfully thin fellow who looked even less dressed for a wedding than she was.

Archer said, "Anna Hess, this is Skrim. Bethany told us he's a good man to have on your staff, especially since he can help you recruit Skagarans who want to work."

Now she noticed the pleated ridge over his nose and a peculiar metallic vest device. "Pleased to meet you," she said, holding out her prosthetic hand.

He shook it and then stared down at it, much as the others had when they'd realized it was not real. Nobody had actually remarked on it, though, and he was no exception.

They discussed an upcoming meeting Archer had set up to launch planet-side operations, and then the captain spied someone else he wanted to talk to and left.

The Skagaran could have made his excuses and left as well, but instead he gave her a surprisingly blunt stare. "Your hand is not true flesh," he said. It sounded like an accusation.

"Both of my lower arms are engineered," she said. "I lost them in an accident."

"And the rest of you?"

She gave a startled laugh. "I'm real enough. Why, what did you think?"

He colored. "My ancestors had many artificial life forms on their home planet," he said. "They served many functions. Those who settled this planet left their home planet swearing never to allow such evil to overtake them again."

Had he really thought she might be an android or something? "So instead they enslaved _living_ beings?"

"It was not their first choice. They discovered that they lacked the labor capacity required to thrive on this planet. It was not an ideal solution, but at least they provided their Human labor force with a reasonably comfortable life. The same cannot be said of the Humans. They would just as soon we all starve to death." His eyes softened as they fell on Bethany dancing. "Though not all of them."

"Well, _we_ don't believe in letting anyone starve," she said. "Which is why we need to get this operation up and running as quickly as possible."

"And how would we be compensated for our labor?" His tone suggested that he expected anything but a fair wage.

"We're prepared to pay you the going rate for Human labor in the local currency, or in room and board," she said, for the captain had already settled as much.

"And our families?"

"We can house them as well, if that's what is needed. But if they are farming I wouldn't recommend leaving any crops behind until we're established. In fact, we are willing to pay your farmers to expand their own farming operations."

He frowned. "Unless you can expand the supply of _water,_ there would be little point."

"We're working on that," Anna said. It was, in fact, the highest priority infrastructure project they had.

He regarded her with new interest. "Sufficient water could turn this planet into a paradise." Then he scowled. "For Humans."

"Not paradise," she said. "But something better than this. For all of us. _Can_ you recruit laborers for us?"

His lip curled. "Of course. As many as you need. Skagarans don't have any choice but to work if they possibly can."

"I think you do have _some_ choice. You're not slaves, after all." It was not a very diplomatic thing to say, but his attitude was annoying her.

"You've never been a slave to hunger, have you?" He crossed his arms and softened his tone. "You'll have as many of us as you need for as long as you need us." She got the feeling he did not think it would be for long.

"Great," Anna said, with a fixed smile, though it was the opposite of what she was actually feeling. If this guy was typical of the Skagarans she'd be working with, it appeared likely that she would soon be coping with labor issues on top of everything else.

x x x

T'Pol watched the dancers with scientific detachment. Presumably this was how Humans from the American West had entertained themselves. It would be interesting to compare their dances and music to that of the world they'd been taken from. What had changed? What had stayed the same? Could any useful generalizations about the species be drawn from the answers?

The captain joined her. "Care to dance, T'Pol?"

"No," she said.

"Not even with Trip?"

"No."

"He'd enjoy it, you know. I've seen him dance. He's good."

"Vulcans do not dance."

"The woman who taught the _Suus Mahna_ to a settlement of deuterium miners can't figure out the waltz step? I doubt that. Besides, Trip would lead."

She turned and regarded him. "Why are you pushing this?"

Archer gave her a smile. "I know Trip. He's a romantic. Nothing would make him happier than to dance a waltz with his own true love."

"We already do far more intimate things together," she said, and watched a blush rise on Archer's cheeks. "I fail to see why a dance should have any great import."

"That's because you're not Human," he said, then shrugged. "Well, never mind. I'm sure Trip knew what he was giving up when he chose to be with you." He raised his glass to her and left.

Giving up? She stared after him in consternation.

x x x

Jon ambled back towards the Skagaran whisky Russ had told him was stashed in the corner behind one of the musician's ancient violin cases.

It wasn't as if he'd actually expected T'Pol to dance with him – or with Trip, for that matter - but he'd completed all his business and now he was suddenly aware of having nothing in particular to do.

And of being alone.

At least until a delicate hand landed on his forearm and stopped his progress. He turned in surprise.

It was one of the young ladies from Bethany's rooming house. "I know of at least _one_ lady who would like a partner, Captain Archer," she said, and pointed the closed fan in her hand at herself.

She was tall and freckled and sturdy-looking and blonde – just about the complete opposite of Hoshi. He had no idea what her name was. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Miss...?"

"Loretta," she said. "I should be offended that you don't remember me." She didn't seem offended, though. She smiled merrily. "But mostly I could still use a partner."

Nice smile. And there was the great relief of sensing no actual desperation from her. "Then I'd be delighted," he said, and gave up on the whisky for the moment.

x x x

When Trip finally made his way back to T'Pol, she was watching the dancers rather intently.

"Drawing any useful conclusions?" he asked. Loretta had successfully snared the captain, he noticed, and they both seemed to be enjoying themselves.

T'Pol looked up at him. "Most of this music utilizes a three-beat measure with emphasis placed on the first beat."

"Uh huh," he said, amused. "It's called a _waltz_." He settled in next to her and wondered if she'd let him hold her hand. Maybe if she thought the skirt of her dress could hide it from plain sight? "I told Russ where we were going." He snorted a little ruefully. "He asked if we were going to seek your father's permission."

"My father is dead."

"I know. But we _are_ going to ask your mother's permission as soon as we find her. Right?" He couldn't help worrying about what a return to Vulcan might mean for their relationship. Of course, worrying about what it might mean to their continued existence would probably be smarter.

"That goes without saying."

They watched for awhile. The musicians finished one waltz and began another, slower one, and there were fewer couples on the floor. Archer was still there with Loretta, though. Trip wondered if he knew just how much dancing two dances in a row with the same woman would be remarked upon in town. He was just about to start surreptitiously feeling for her hand when T'Pol suddenly drew in a long breath and turned to him. "I am unlikely to be a proficient partner, but would you care to dance with me?"

He stared down at her in shock. "I'd _love_ to dance with you. I just can't believe you're willing."

In answer, she simply gave him her hand.

He grinned and led her out onto the least traveled part of the dance floor. "Just follow my lead," he said, and started with a simple _ONE-two-three_.

Being bonded added a whole new level to the experience of waltzing with a beautiful woman. It meant that he sensed her initial panic, but it also meant that he could reassure her without saying a word, and he smiled with delight as she began to follow him almost instinctively. As they gained confidence, he swept her into the circling pairs.

She was looking up at him with her beautiful dark eyes and the music was sweet and plaintive and he couldn't believe she was in his arms right in front of everyone, undeniably his.

How he loved this woman! Even if it all went to hell tomorrow, at least he'd had this.

**To be continued…**


	26. Chapter 26

**Author's Note:** Disclaimers, etc. in Chapter One. Don't fall over, now. I wanted to make sure I didn't take as long to update this time. Many thanks as always, reviewers and readers.

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><p>If Shi'Kahr was Vulcan's garden spot, this planet really <em>was<em> going to kill him.

Trip stood in the precious shade cast by one of the roundish, reddish buildings that surrounded Earth's Embassy, which was still emblazoned with the symbol of United Earth. There was some comfort in thinking a Human authority of some kind still existed here, even if the planet didn't.

He had taken one of Phlox's hypo sprays before disembarking into the dry furnace and brutal gravity well of this planet. He still felt that all the free liquid in his body was quickly steaming out of it in a doomed attempt to cool his body. He wasn't even sweaty, because any moisture was immediately wicked away into the parched atmosphere.

He lifted and drank from the water jug he had brought, swishing the water lovingly over his tongue before he swallowed it. It was already half empty. How the hell was he supposed to cross a desert without a water truck alongside?

Of course, if he said anything like that to T'Pol, she'd urge him to stay here and let her go alone. But he was committed now. On the plus side, dying of dehydration or heat stroke might give slipping into the hereafter a certain immediate appeal that made it easier than other ways to go. It wouldn't make much of a homecoming for his bond mate, though.

He and T'Pol had traveled separately (though on the same transport) ever since they'd been left by the _Kumari_ at a nondescript trading post. A human male and female Vulcan traveling together were just too likely to elicit interest.

Traveling separately, Soval had emphasized to him, meant no furtive trading of information, no glances across rooms, no flickers of recognition at all. T'Pol – _no,_ _T'Sol_ – had kept to herself, as a Vulcan traveling alone would be expected to. She had also undergone a racial transformation, turning quite brown in an attempt to avoid recognition. He wasn't sure that was really going to help. He hadn't even known there _were_ dark-skinned Vulcans until this happened, which meant they had to be fairly rare and thus likely to attract more attention. And she did attract attention from other aliens – she always had, of course – but he didn't notice any in particular from her fellow Vulcans.

His own disguise had amounted to little more than giving up shaving and ditching the uniform. He had conversed with anyone who was interested, as many Humans might, offering up the cover they had decided upon: He was Anthony Tucker, just another refugee, who'd been off doing some engineering consulting on Denobula when Earth was destroyed. He was on his way to Vulcan to look for anyone he might be able to find among their refugee camps.

He would be expected to come to the Embassy first, and so the air taxi he had taken had deposited him here, on this empty street. If it were not for the embassy being so clearly visible across it, he would have assumed he'd been dropped in the wrong place or perhaps at the wrong time, for there were no others on the streets, just the occasional drone of an air car overhead.

He wished T'Pol was here to tell him why her planet's capitol city had all the charm of one of those creepy post apocalyptic movies in which every trace of life had been neatly zapped out of existence.

Hell, he just wished T'Pol was here, period. So he closed his eyes and 'listened.' As frustrating as separate travel had been, somehow, in the back of his mind, she was always there. He'd felt stirrings of pleasure from her, possibly at stepping out onto Vulcan soil again. Later, he'd felt some concern as he'd stepped out of the processing facility and experienced the shock of being outdoors on Vulcan for the first time.

He checked the time. He had an appointment in the embassy, one that might appear to be a routine inquiry into any family or friends who might be on the planet, but was in reality meant to be an intelligence briefing before they set out for the Forge. T'Pol was supposed to be off following her own leads as she tried to gather information about her mother's situation. She was to rendezvous with him later at one of the large, efficient hostels used by visitors to the city.

The entrance to the embassy really was ridiculously far away, at the end of a long, bright, sterile pedestrian avenue between symmetrical pools that he knew, from his research, had once contained water. Today, they stood empty. Did it cost too much to keep them filled now? Really, it had been rather nervy for Humans to have made such an extravagant waste of water part of their embassy design in the first place.

Trip knew he should just start walking rather than loitering about outside, but that long hike in the sun looked brutal and everything was so empty he couldn't help wondering if he'd get there and find it was closed for some obscure Vulcan holiday he didn't know about. He consulted his padd, trying to find answers in a form he could read without betraying in his identity.

"May I help you?"

He looked up at the young Human woman in a Starfleet uniform who had suddenly appeared next to him. "Um, yes. Is there another way to get in there?" He gestured across the street at the long walk way. "I'm a little worried about passing out somewhere in the middle."

She smiled. "First time on Vulcan?"

"Just off the boat," he said. "Are you saying I'll get used to it?"

"_I _never have. But nothing's as bad as the first day." She held out her hand. "I'm Ensign Adebayo."

"Tucker," he said, as he shook her hand, relieved that his cover identity hadn't forced him to lie. Adebayo had a lovely accent and an elegant manner that reminded him of one of his fellow engineering students back in college. "Nigeria?" he guessed.

Her smile turned into a grin. "Very good! Lagos born and bred. Follow me, Commander. We've been expecting you." She headed back into the doors of the Vulcan building they were standing in front of.

She took him down a long, claustrophobic escalator that eventually deposited them in a busy underground promenade, still hot but not as unbearable, with shops and stalls and plenty of Vulcans and other species conducting business or on their way somewhere. She turned and took off again. He followed her, noticing signs in Vulcan and other languages that he couldn't read, as well as one in English that he finally could: _Earth Embassy_.

She said, "Vulcans talk tough, but they use air conditioning as much as the next species. You won't find them up on the surface very much this time of year, especially in the middle of the day."

So they were not only crossing the worst desert on the planet, but doing it at the wrong time of year?

"The Ambassador will be delighted that you're here early enough for her to ask you some questions before we get down to business." She was walking fast enough that he couldn't spare much breath for a reply., so he simply watched her soldier on ahead and tried to keep up. It crossed his mind that Adebayo had a rather shapely behind, but, like the dancing girls of North Star, this stirred no real interest in him. T'Pol, after all, had the finest ass in the universe.

In the back of his mind, he sensed a flush of T'Polian warmth and smiled. Could she tell what he was thinking, or had she just sensed his flare of affection?

A distinctive hum and glow pulled his attention away from his love life and back to their environs just as they passed an official-looking waiting area. "Is that a _transporter?_" he said. He had assumed the Vulcans would require at least ten more years of safety testing before they adopted that technology. To have a public facility already operating would mean they had moved even faster than Earth.

"Yes, indeed. They are mostly used by the government, but the public can access them, too, if they are given a special permit or are willing to pay the rather prohibitive cost of obtaining one. It's all very carefully monitored by the High Command, of course."

At the entrance to the embassy, she presented her ID and was waved in with him. As soon as the second set of doors closed behind them, he took a deep, grateful breath: this environment was far more comfortable.

He didn't suddenly feel any lighter, though. Just walking across the floor still felt like working out, and he didn't like to think how fatigued his muscles would be the next day. "No escaping the gravity, huh?"

"Not with our current budget. This way," Adebayo said, ushering him into an elevator that went down for what seemed like an extraordinarily long time.

"Just how far down are we going?" he asked. The elevator control panel did not seem to align in any way with the length of their descent.

"I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you," she said sweetly. "Here we are."

x x x

T'Pol, as T'Sol, had made arrangements while still on the transport ship to meet with a certain architect to discuss possible modifications of a commercial building Starfleet Intelligence happened to know was empty, which was how she came to be standing in its lobby waiting for her former fiancé to show up.

It was too dangerous to check in on the family homestead – undoubtedly, the VHC would be monitoring it carefully. As it was, she feared that even with the change in her skin tone, facial recognition scanning could have already alerted the High Command that she was back on the planet.

Eventually, she opened the door to Koss, who looked a bit well fed compared to the last time she'd seen him. He walked in slowly and appeared at least a little apprehensive – this was not his usual type of project, she suspected. He had offered the ta'al before his eyes narrowed, then widened. "T'Pol?"

"It is I."

"You appear to have undergone something of a transformation."

"Yes. I am attempting to escape detection by the High Command."

"That would explain the spelling mistake in your name as well, I take it." He stepped past her and looked around the empty lobby. "We are alone?"

"We are." Her hand tightened on the small weapon she had tucked in a pocket in her robe, just in case.

He planted himself and stared down at her. "Why are you here?"

"My mother, in one of our last communications, rather obscurely noted that you could be trusted."

"Perhaps she was trying yet again to persuade you to complete our bond," he said. He sounded a bit sour, which was perhaps to be expected.

"Yes, as always, but _that_ was in a different section of her message." T'Pol appraised him. _Could_ he be trusted? "You know she has gone into hiding?"

"She and a number of others. If she had not, she would probably be in custody." He took out a device and walked about the room, clearly scanning it in some way. "I take it you don't really need an architect to remodel this building?"

"No."

"Good. It would be a tedious project at best." He stopped and regarded her. "How can I assist you?"

"What can you tell me about my mother's activities?"

"Your mother has become a follower of Syrran. You are familiar with him?"

"Yes. But leaving behind her work to follow a dissident mystic is not behavior I would have considered typical of my mother."

"Agreed. I believe the High Command is less concerned with the Syrran's philosophy than with the research discoveries his followers have been making and discussing. Of late there has been a rather striking pattern of persecution against any scholar doing original research focused on Surak's era – particularly among those who, like your mother, have been focused on gathering objective data, such as DNA records."

"Why?"

"I don't know. However, persecuting scholars for pursuing the truth is only logical if there is a truth you wish to remain hidden."

"Are _you_ a Syrrannite?"

He grimaced. "No. But my father has become deeply concerned about V'Las's motives and plans. He also knows that publicly opposing him would end his career and his ability to affect future policy. Therefore, my family is currently in a somewhat delicate situation. If you were hoping to wed…"

"I wasn't."

An eyebrow went up. "Then there is no need to discuss the matter further."

"Do you know how I could contact my mother?"

"The Syrrannites are believed to be hiding in any of a number of old ruins in the Forge. You know how inaccessible that is."

"I do."

"Also, in finding her you might lead the High Command to them."

"And yet she asked me to go to her," T'Pol said.

Koss regarded her for a moment. "I will consult my father and let you know." He began to walk around, taking scans. "I believe I need to at least appear to have been doing my job."

"I am grateful for your assistance, Koss."

He tilted his head at her, probably curious at her use of such a Human custom as expressing gratitude. "It is only logical for me to assist someone who has my peoples' best interest in mind. You have earned some trust. I am familiar with your crew's accomplishments in the Expanse."

T'Pol decided that she might as well determine just how far Koss's logic would extend. "Are you also aware that I have bonded with a Human?"

His eyebrows rose. "I was not. A Human. How … interesting." There was a touch of distaste well-buried there, perhaps. "Does this explain your refusal to wed when my parents last requested it?"

"No." At least not consciously, and T'Pol was hardly going to discuss her subconscious desires with a Vulcan who probably didn't believe that such a thing even existed. "Our union is much more recent than that, and was somewhat inadvertent. However, I find him entirely satisfactory."

"High praise indeed," Koss said. "Perhaps I may meet this Human of yours someday."

"I would be honored," T'Pol said, inclining her head politely, and she _was_ honored, although she still carefully did not mention that Trip was on Vulcan.

They made arrangements to meet once again. He offered to drop her at her lodgings, but she demurred, not yet fully confident that this man should know where to find her.

x x x

The doors of the turbo lift opened out into what looked like a large store room of cleaning and business supplies. Trip tensed, thinking this was rather suspicious, but Adebayo simply walked to the back of the room and pressed under a nondescript shelf, and suddenly the closet opened up into an impressive command center.

"Welcome to Vulcan, Commander Tucker," said a young woman in civilian dress, rising from her seat and coming towards him with a big smile.

He returned the smile, relieved. That was when the room around them suddenly shook hard and the lights cut out, pitching them into darkness.

_To be continued…  
><em>

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><p>To read a free sample of Alelou's real life writing, go to Amazon and look up<em> The Awful Mess: A Love Story<em> (regular or PG-13 Edition).


	27. Chapter 27

**Author's Note:** Disclaimers, etc. in Chapter One. My apologies for taking months and months to get back to this. There have been a lot of major changes going on in my real life, and most of my spare time has had to go to my paid fiction career. But the house is sold, the next house is under contract, the semester is nearly over, and the other day I suddenly found myself wondering once again how Trip was going to get out of his predicament. Hopefully I'll keep wondering whatever is required until I can bring this story to a close for you. Many thanks as always for your reviews and for your patience!

**In case you need a quick synopsis of the story so far:** In this alternative universe, Earth has been destroyed because the Illyrians prevented Archer from making off with their warp drive. They take Trip hostage as well, dumping him off at North Star on their way home. He has to make his way among the people of that settlement, unsure that he'll ever see his shipmates again. Upon their reunion, Trip and T'Pol don't waste time getting together, although Archer's eventual arrival (he'd gone off to defeat the sphere-builders with Shran) leads to some new tensions. Sato and Reed have begun a tense romance, not eased by the recent arrival of Harris and Forrest. Trip and T'Pol are now on a covert mission to Vulcan to find T'Pol's mother, who is currently in hiding as a Syrranite. They also hope to help prevent the war brewing between Vulcan and Andoria. In the last chapter, T'Pol had just met with Koss, since her mother had told her she could trust him. Trip had just arrived in a control room deep beneath Earth's Embassy … when it began to shake and went dark. Meanwhile, back on North Star, Anna Hess is in charge of making preparations for an influx of Human refugees.

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><p>Anna chose her steps carefully, even though they'd equipped themselves for this expedition with high protective gaiters against sand vipers, until she reached the middle of a vast grassy area. "Here," she said.<p>

The captain, her only companion, turned in a circle, surveying their surroundings. "Because?"

"Probably the same reason the Skagarans planted their first settlement so close by. A million years or so ago this was a rather large lake. Then something happened, and it dried up, like the rest of the planet, but there's still a good supply of water underground. And in the late winter or early spring, a small pond usually forms just over there." She pointed to an area where the vegetation was subtly different. "The locals tell us there's usually some snow melt off the higher mountains, enough to supply a few creeks that feed this lake for a month or two. By midsummer, it's gone. But this is still the best aquifer in the most temperate zone of this planet."

"Then this is it." He sounded a bit grim.

"Of course, the local ranchers all pretty much graze their bluenose herds here in the summer, so we can expect some controversy over land use."

"Of course. So what's the first step?" Archer asked. "Dig down to the aquifer? Create a real lake?"

She squinted at him. They were trying to survive here, not create a resort. "It makes more sense to tap the water underground, where it won't evaporate as quickly. After we're comfortably self-sufficient, we can think about some terraforming. Though honestly, I think it makes better sense to build domed cities if you really want to try to maintain any surface water in this climate."

"I don't think we're going to have the resources for that any time soon." He kneeled down and picked up a handful of yellow sand in his hands, then let it filter through his fingers. "It's truly a desert planet for us, then." He sighed and stared out over the vast landscape. "There's an old theory, you know, that humans who live in deserts tend to be more stratified and warlike than those who live in forests."

She wondered if this reaction was a symptom of some personal malaise. Usually the captain was their chief cheerleader. "Not much we can do about that, I wouldn't think."

"True," Archer said. He turned and smiled at her. "You're a very practical sort of person, aren't you, Lieutenant?"

_Practical._ Of course. Even here. Anna felt her face flush.

Archer must have noticed her reaction, because he said, "That's a good thing, you know. In fact, I'm counting on it."

"Sir," she said, smiling stiffly to show him she was okay. But her mother, a very feminine and artistic woman, had often criticized Anna for her practical nature - her fascination with how things worked – her utter lack of romance. _Mutter_ had told her she was never going to get a partner or children that way.

Her sister, the acceptably romantic one, _had_ gotten a partner and had children. Of course, they were all dead now, as was _Mutter. _

"How's the labor recruiting going?"

She dragged her attention back to the here and now. "Skrim has promised me thirty Skagaran workers, and we have about a dozen townspeople who've expressed interest. One of them, a Loretta Sagendorf, said she knew you and you would vouch for her."

Archer grinned. "That young lady has a healthy amount of initiative. I'd still check with Bethany."

"I did. She said she'll be a good worker if she doesn't get too distracted by any eligible young men."

That got a chuckle out of him. "Not just young ones."

x x x

Trip focused on keeping his balance in the dark as the floor beneath him continued trembling with lesser rumblings.

It finally stopped.

The lights did not come back on.

There was another kind of disturbance, then, as the T'Pol-hum in his head spiked into frantic concern.

"I'm okay," he muttered, mostly for her benefit although it surely wouldn't reach her. People began to call out in the dark. He tried to direct a burst of affection and reassurance her way before he resolutely tuned her out. There were more pressing matters at hand.

He'd coped with pitch darkness before, of course, but knowing it was darkness at the bottom of a long shaft on an alien planet somehow made it feel worse. He pulled out his padd and thumbed it on, providing welcome illumination, just as all the others were doing. "Everyone okay?" he asked.

The woman who had originally risen to speak to him spoke to everyone now, in a voice of authority, "Check around you and make sure nobody's injured. Dobbs and Cheng, see what our options are in terms of evacuation."

Two men pulled head lights out of their pockets and phase pistols out of their holsters and headed out into the supply closet anteroom. "A _safe_ evacuation," she called after them. "We don't know what we might be dealing with here." She turned to another man who had been seated at one of the now-dark panels. "Mr. Gies, any idea?"

The older man she had spoken to was consulting a handheld scanner. "It's not seismic activity. Something on the surface directly above us generated enormous and concentric waves of energy."

"Meaning…?"

"I can't get good scans that far through solid rock," the man said, "But I don't see how the embassy could still be standing."

There was silence for a moment. _That far through solid rock_ echoed in Trip's head. "Just how far down are we?" he asked.

"A little less than half a kilometer," Gies said.

Trip said, "I don't suppose there's an emergency exit?"

"Yes. A very long climb up the turbolift shaft," Adebayo said. "But in an emergency, we are supposed to be automatically transported out to whatever Starfleet ship is on standby in orbit."

"So there's a transporter relay down here somewhere," Trip said, heartened.

"We're still here," Adebayo noted.

Angelino said, "Only temporarily, I'm sure," but the hooded look she flashed at Trip did not exactly inspire his confidence. "Commander Tucker, my apologies for the welcome. I'm Adrianna Angelino, Acting Ambassador."

"Pleased to meet you, Ambassador," Trip said, "Do you have any idea why we're not seeing any emergency power?"

"Afraid not. Anyone?"

Various dimly-lit faces shook their heads no.

Angelino grimaced. "I'm thinking a chief engineer is a pretty handy person to have around just now."

"I'll see what I can do. Anyone have the EPS schematics for this room? Maybe on one of your padds?"

"The database was housed in the embassy," Gies said darkly.

Trip said, "It must have been backed up somewhere else."

"Yes. Earth."

It was impossible that people who'd bothered to construct a command center this deep into the crust of Vulcan hadn't also backed up Earth's database more effectively than that, but he saw little point in debating the matter. Hopefully the same idiot who'd approved water features on the surface of Vulcan hadn't been in charge of it. "I think I'll just take a quick look around."

If he could figure out alien starships on the fly, figuring out where the transporter relay was in an Earth-built facility shouldn't require schematics.

Which was good. Because maybe it was just his imagination, but it seemed to him it was already getting a little stuffy down here.

x x x

Trip was clearly in a state of heightened alarm.

Trip was also ignoring her.

From the automated ground transport T'Pol had hailed, she checked the news feed on her padd, and the source of his alarm became fairly obvious.

Earth's Embassy had just been obliterated in a giant explosion.

But he was still alive. Of that much she was certain.

_Where are you?_ she thought to him, as hard as she could. They hadn't actually succeeded in communicating that verbally, but perhaps her urgent need would finally make it happen.

It didn't.

Where was he? In the embassy? Outside the embassy? In custody? Not in physical pain, she decided. Not in a panic. But he was definitely alarmed about something. At the same time she could feel him becoming progressively more systematic, more detached. She recognized his crisis mode.

"I wish to change my destination," she told the ground transport's computer, and gave it an address near the embassy, on the other side of the city.

"That sector is currently closed to all traffic due to an emergency condition," it reported back. "If you believe you had family members in, or adjacent to, the Earth Embassy in central Shi'Khar, the High Command requests that you notify them immediately so that you can receive updates and direction at the earliest possible opportunity. Would you like to notify them now?"

"No," she said, and wondered if her request for the address was enough to make her a subject of interest. "I wish to disembark here," she said.

She would have to find another way to get to him.

x x x

Trip was rigging two power cells from padds he'd commandeered to power the transporter relay when there was a sudden dull _thunk_ outside, and then another one.

Then silence. Everyone had probably just done the same math: two people out there, two _thunks_.

Angelino said to Gies, "I assume that scanner of yours can see into the next room?" He and she had been bickering for the last ten minutes over the oxygen supply in the room, the carbon dioxide levels in the room, and when either was likely to become an emergency (apparently not for a few hours). "What's out there?"

"Two humans," Gies said. He raised his face to Angelino. "One dead … one dying." He looked down again. "Make that two dead."

"Is it safe to go out there?" she asked, gesturing at the door.

"It wasn't for them," Gies retorted.

Angelino said, "Is there anybody _else_ out there? Is _that_ atmosphere safe?" In their new human reality, Trip reflected, you couldn't afford to fire assholes with skills. Then again, maybe Gies was just reacting badly to being terrified.

"I don't see any _obvious_ dangers," the man said.

Angelino shared a look with Trip and he wondered if she possibly wanted him to step in and take charge. A young acting ambassador probably didn't have quite the command experience during a crisis that he did. But his task was arguably more urgent than hers, so he said nothing. Angelino assigned Adebayo and a man named Habib to investigate.

They weren't gone long. Upon their return, Adebayo reported, "They clearly fell quite a distance down the shaft." Her voice was choked. "There are also burns consistent with a focused energy weapon on Mr. Cheng, who was on top. My guess is that he was shot somewhere pretty high up the shaft, and then his fall took out Mr. Dobbs."

Even in the dim light, he could see Angelino's face whiten. She asked, "Any sign of whoever shot him, or anyone else?"

"No, ma'am. We could try to send up another reconnaissance team, but…"

"I don't think that would be a wise use of personnel," Angelino said quickly. "Gies, please set up some sort of monitoring system for that shaft. I want to know if we're about to have company."

Gies squeaked, "Me?"

"Or you could just stand guard out there, if you prefer."

"I'll set something up," he said hastily. Angelino nodded at Habib to accompany him.

Trip said, "Maybe we won't need that. I'm ready to power this up now." He waited for her command.

"Please go ahead," she said.

"Okay, it's functional."

They waited.

Nothing happened.

"Communications relay next, then," he said. "Maybe we just have to let someone know we're down here."

"Preferably not the same people who shot Mr. Cheng," Adebayo said.

"I have a contact that might be useful," Trip said. That transporter station in the underground mall had already sprung to his mind, but that area, if it had survived the destruction of the embassy, would probably be teeming with military and law enforcement, or an invasion force, or whatever the hell was going on up there.

For all he knew, the whole planet had been bombarded. But the fact that he still felt T'Pol somewhere down deep in his mind, frantically thrumming at him, suggested that at least some of the rest of Vulcan still existed. He tried another quick burst of affection, wishing to allay her anxiety, but he didn't really have time for any communing. It wouldn't reassure her anyway; he wouldn't be able to hide his own apprehension.

He wished he knew who his contact actually was. Soval had expressly forbidden him to contact T'Pol directly, noting that the High Command would be carefully monitoring the communications of all recent arrivals.

As he lay on his back, rummaging in the comm. panel, a young woman asked Angelino, "If we're going to get beamed out of here, shouldn't we include Li and Maurice in that? We don't leave anyone behind."

The ambassador said, "Does anyone know if they have any family left?"

"They don't," Adebayo said. "Like most of us, their families were on Earth."

Angelino said, "Then I'm sorry, but I think we'd better leave them here. They are as good as buried. If you want to go out there and perform any burial rites, please feel free." After a moment of no one responding, she said, "And assuming none of you is a cleric, I guess I'm the person who should do that. Ensign, I'll ask you to cover me, please."

"Of course," Adebayo said, and the two women left, followed by about half the people left in the room.

Trip worked and slowly became conscious that the other half had scattered roughly in a semi-circle around him, watching and waiting.

"This will probably do the trick," he said, realizing how desperate they must be feeling. "But just in case, I'd like the rest of you to do whatever you can on the padds you have left to research Vulcan transporter stations. We want close something enough to reach, but not too close to the embassy. If we don't get a response, we're going to have to find a signal ourselves. And I'd like to have some coordinates that will narrow down our search."

He went back to work on the comm. station. Those signals were surely better protected than to allow another species to just access them on the fly. But maybe the research would keep them busy.

He tested his connection. Yep, they had power. He waited for Angelino to return, and took a moment to focus on T'Pol. "Love you, darlin'," he thought at her as intently as he could.

Once they sent out their message, it might be too late for any further contact. They might be rescued. They might get no response.

Or, judging from what had just happened to Cheng and Dobbs, they might be promptly killed.

x x x

"I need your help," she told Koss, and explained. Trip and the others, she had been told by Soval's contact, were deep beneath the embassy. They needed a place to safely transport out. But the contact did not have that kind of access.

His eyes widened. "That cannot done without significant risk."

"Your father—"

"My father would be risking a charge of treason, and summary execution. As would I."

"Many lives are at stake!"

He stared at her. She decided that if he pointed out they were _Human_ lives she would never speak to this man again.

But he took out his communicator. Still staring at her, he said, "I wish to speak to Sub-Administrator Sirok. Please tell him that it is his son, Koss. I am calling about a family property."

T'Pol hoped that was not a reference to _her_.

_**To be continued…**_


	28. Chapter 28

**Author's Note:** Notes and disclaimers are with Chapter One. I appreciate any review, even a critical one. If you logged in to write it, I will respond personally to you.

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><p>There was nothing left to do. They were all sitting, chatting quietly or not. Trip had tuned out the others' murmured conversations in favor of an unsatisfactory attempt to commune with his bond mate. It could be a lot worse; at least the temperature was comfortable. He wouldn't have minded having a little bourbon on hand, though.<p>

He'd rigged a carbon dioxide extractor to extend the time they had left and run through all the options he could think of to get more, but nothing struck him as something he could actually accomplish. That might have been at least partly because his brain was already starving for oxygen.

Gies had stopped updating them on their status awhile ago – he'd given himself a hypospray of some kind and nodded off to sleep.

Trip had reached his contact, a raspy female who had told him they would try to extract them and to avoid further communication at all costs. That had been over two hours ago. Trip feared that he had merely confirmed their entombment for the High Command.

When an hour had passed with no word, Habib had volunteered to climb the shaft and see if the coast was clear. He had never returned. There hadn't been a _thunk_, so maybe the cavalry – or something worse – would show up any minute now. But it really shouldn't have taken this long, either, so … maybe not. Trip normally would have tried a last-ditch climb himself, if only because sitting around felt like giving up, but his growing lassitude had won out. _I'm tuckered out,_ he thought to himself. _Har. _

He'd been sorely tempted to use the comm. relay to reach T'Pol directly, despite the contact's instructions, but ultimately decided against it. He didn't want to do anything to endanger his bond mate. He was aware of her anxiety like some sort of standing wave bathing his neurons in concern. It was kind of nice, really. Almost but not quite like holding hands. He feared his own emotions must be an unpleasant mix of regret and apprehension, leavened by dark amusement that after all the near-deaths in his life, it might actually end like this, on his very first day on Vulcan.

_But you were so worth it,_ _darlin'._ He just wished there were a way to say it so she could understand it.

He tried praying, but prayer was not something he'd ever gotten the hang of, even after he'd decided he liked Jesus and enjoyed going to church. If he were truly sincere in his new faith, no doubt he'd find solace in it now, of all times, but it just wasn't working like that. Maybe if he could accept that death was really imminent? But he just wasn't going there. It wasn't really in his nature, not when he wasn't sick or in pain and there was no particular reason to welcome it yet.

He was wondering if he could somehow think himself into the white space with T'Pol when some of the people who'd been sitting near him suddenly disappeared in swirls of light.

He stared at the space where they'd been. Then he yelped and jumped to his feet, pointing - and swayed dizzily as his vision broke up into tiny pinpricks of light_._

x x x

The first well attracted a large audience of townsfolk, kept at a safe distance by the Sheriff and his deputies. They all screamed and jumped back the first time the glowing red pulse of the drill beam erupted into the surface, melting its way down, then watched the more prosaic installation of the well pipe and pump.

Anna had stood back, letting her team work, and watched the locals. Some, she was willing to bet, were coveting the metal components of the pump. She had had to set up a lot more security than she had originally counted on, and had already ruled out using those from the planet for that particular job. Refined metal was just too tempting. Indeed, it was a limited resource for her as well.

But metal wasn't the only scarce resource on this planet. After testing to make sure it was safe, Anna invited the crowd over and gave everyone a sample of the cold, clear water. She could tell they were impressed. This well was three times as deep as any they had.

The second and third well installations earned a little less of an audience. The fourth one was attended only by Anna and Skrim and a local farmer who wanted to know much they would charge to build one of these for him on _his_ land. Anna knew the captain and Forrest and Harris and a couple of men from the town were still working out how to monetize the existing population's wealth and time in a way that would allow the refugees to begin new lives without undue resentment on either side. She told him the mayor would let everyone know when they had it worked out, though she wasn't sure deep wells were anything they could afford to let individual citizens control.

The ship's geologist had emphasized to her that this aquifer, even though it was the best on the planet, was nonetheless delicate. Drawn down too fast by a growing population, it would be gone in mere decades.

"My village needs one of these, too," Skrim said, after the farmer had walked away.

"I know," Anna said. The Skagarans' branch of this aquifer had probably never recovered from the heavy use it had received in their early years on the planet. Their current well was also far too close to their primitive septic facilities.

In one of their planning meetings up on the ship, Phlox had told her, "The Skagarans who've survived these conditions are going to be very hardy stock, I must say. Not a bad genetic heritage. Humanity could do much worse than picking up some of these traits."

Ensign Masaro had suddenly pushed back from the table. "Maybe we'd prefer that humans stay _human!_"

She'd had to talk to him afterwards – did he really think it was necessary to offend the generous Denobulan who was their only doctor? She hadn't been at all satisfied with his sullen responses. She needed to talk to the captain about him. He'd always been a bit of an odd man out, and their new situation clearly wasn't helping any.

Skrim could be rather sullen, too, but after working with the people of the village for awhile, Anna sympathized a little more with him. The latest crisis had been a refusal by their local Human laborers to move into a compound of living quarters with the Skagaran laborers. The Humans had also insisted that they must be paid more than the Skagarans.

"We don't believe in paying people different wages for the same work," Anna had said. "But you do what you must. I'm sure I can get more Skagarans to do the work if you don't want to do it."

They'd caved on both issues, ultimately, but not without a great deal of grumbling.

To her surprise and disappointment, Skrim had agreed with them. "Don't put us close to them," he said. "They don't like us and we don't like them. It's just asking for trouble. Same with the wages. You'd better let them feel they're getting something over on us, or they'll take it out on our skin."

"If you don't learn to work together and live together, it will never get better." She could just imagine Captain Archer's expression if she actually proposed anything else. "And nobody's going to take it out on anyone or they'll lose their job."

"Someone's going to get hurt," Skrim had said. "And in my experience it's never them."

Now he said, "But we're never going to get a new well, are we?"

She sighed. She had come to admire his determined efforts on behalf of his people, but she could do without the melodrama. "Let's just focus on the plan for today, please," she said.

The truth was that his village needed to relocate, and that opened up a whole new set of thorny issues.

x x x

"I take it this is your bond mate?" Koss asked, for T'Pol was _caressing_ the face of the man who had toppled over upon his arrival on the transporter pad at the Interior Ministry. She had quickly moved to drag him off the platform as the others were also pulled clear, in order to allow further beam-ins.

Koss positioned himself to afford them some privacy; even if everyone here was a trusted member of his clan, this was not behavior others should see.

She looked up at him, probably weighing how much it was safe to tell him. This was a logical precaution, he reflected, and feeling offended by it would serve no purpose.

"He is," she said, returning her attention to the man, whose eyes were fluttering as he sucked in long breaths. Clearly, all of the humans had been suffering from some degree of oxygen deprivation. Indeed, he had been the only one transported over on his feet.

Koss studied the man who had won his betrothed. He struck him as rather slight of frame – someone he should easily defeat in combat if necessary, given his own superior height and Vulcan strength. The man had rather excessive facial hair and was dressed in a way that didn't suggest a Starfleet officer, but this had obviously been an undercover operation. A few strands of silver in the man's beard hinted at his much briefer human life span. All in all, he was an illogical choice for a Vulcan female of T'Pol's age and social status. Then again, given recent events, she probably would have difficulty finding any suitable mate on Vulcan.

The man's eyes finally stopped rolling and focused on the woman who was kneeling over him. He smiled and lifted a hand to her cheek. "You real?" he asked.

"I am," she said.

His smile broadened into a wide grin. They clasped their forefingers together in the _ozh'esta_, and Koss felt a surge of envy so powerful and unexpected that he actually took a step back.

Such powerful emotion was not logical. His family was actually most fortunate in having escaped the taint of T'Les's current situation – if they survived their involvement in this current operation, at least. And T'Pol's choice of mate clearly meant she would never prosper in the traditional sense, assuming her place in the long and distinguished ancestral line of her clan.

His chest still felt tight, however. T'Pol had a bond mate whom she clearly cherished, and who cherished her. And he did not.

The man's eyes finally began to take in the room beyond T'Pol and landed on him.

"Trip … Commander Tucker, this is Koss," T'Pol said formally.

The man scrambled to his feet and into a posture that struck Koss as subtly prepared for combat. "_That_ Koss?" he asked her, without taking his eyes off him.

"Indeed," T'Pol said. "He has been most helpful to us. At significant risk to himself."

The human's eyes narrowed. Then he smiled, though Koss had worked with enough humans to recognize it as a smile of social politeness rather than genuine pleasure. His stance didn't change, either. "Thank you," Tucker said.

"As T'Pol noted, many lives were at risk," he said. "They continue to be. We must move quickly."

x x x

"So what the hell is going on, anyway?" Trip asked. The Humans had quickly been hustled into various private air cars; he and T'Pol and Angelino were with Koss, who was piloting himself rather than letting the computer do it. It was the middle of the night, and the atmosphere was at a dry bake rather than a full blister. "Who attacked the embassy?"

Koss said, "It has been reported that a series of sophisticated explosives leveled the building. Furthermore, the High Command has named a well-known Syrranite, T'Pau, as their prime suspect."

"A Syrranite?" Trip said. He looked at T'Pol, who wasn't betraying any reaction at all even though her mother was a member of that group.

Koss said, "I consider that highly unlikely to be true. Syrrannites are well-known pacifists."

T'Pol said, "That is not all. Citing the loss of diplomatic staff, the High Command has named an industrialist, John Frederick Paxton, Acting Ambassador for the Human refugee population."

Angelino, who'd been quiet since they got in the air car, said, "God damn it. Of course."

Trip said, "Last time I checked, the Vulcan government doesn't get to appoint Earth's ambassadors."

"Earth no longer exists," Koss said. "A refugee population without a home planet does not necessarily receive the same respect."

"It's a coup," Angelino said. "A coup against what remains of our government. My God, the loss of life… of resources … how could he do that to his own people?"

"Surely this is conjecture," T'Pol said. "The High Command may merely be using Mr. Paxton as a useful pawn."

Angelino said, "I wouldn't count on that. Paxton is a snake. He's been trying to undermine us since the day he arrived."

"That's going to be your problem to deal with, Ambassador," Trip said. "But it sounds like laying low might be the smartest move for now. T'Pol and I have another mission."

Koss said, "V'Las will be searching for the Syrrannites in the Forge, especially now that he has a stronger pretext for doing so. And you as a Human are ill equipped to survive there even without that additional hazard."

"I'm tougher than I look," Trip said. There was no way he was going to hole up somewhere on Vulcan while T'Pol went off into danger without him.

"There is no logic in pursuing certain death," Koss said. "Or in slowing your bond mate's progress."

Next to him, T'Pol squeezed his hand. Thankfully she did not agree with her former betrothed out loud, even though he knew that she did, in fact, think exactly the same thing.

"I think you're underestimating me," he said, ostensibly to Koss. Really, it was to both of them.

He just hoped it was true.

_**To be continued**_


End file.
